


October and April

by Roarkshop



Series: October and April [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Rivalmance, Romance, Slowmance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 196,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roarkshop/pseuds/Roarkshop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a slowmance between Hawke and Fenris, but it concentrates on the story of DA2 with lots of twists on the canon (especially the timeline) and not a lot of repeating back events of the game word for word. Do not expect smut. Rated M for language, violence, and giggity situations. Updated Mondays (Usually) TW: Violence (mostly to enemies but some mild violence between friendly characters).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prince

**Author's Note:**

> If you are looking for a story that is just the events of DA2 parroted back to you and all the stuff you already know, you probably won’t like this story. It goes VERY off canon in some places, and my personal bias for the characters plays a part in how they are presented in this story. If you liked my Garrus/Femshep story, you will probably like this as well. For the best experience, IMO, you should read the chaps on my website.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been supporting this story as I write it. It's really a lot of fun. I read every single comment and try to reply when I can, but please know that I appreciate every reader, review, and favorite I receive on my stories. Thank you so much!  
> Lovelovelove,  
> Roarkshop

It was just another day for the Merchant Prince of Kirkwall. 

Varric had been watching the two Amell children for weeks now. Though by ‘watching’ he meant, of course, paying other people to watch them and report back. It wasn’t so much the mage girl, Bethany, he was interested in — though truth be told, it was always good to have knowledge of a powerful mage desperately hiding from the Templars. No, in fact the other one, the brother everyone seemed to call “the Hawk,” was the one Varric had his sights set on. He had first heard about him from Athenril, an old acquaintance with her fingers in every pie concerning smuggling in the city. She had assured Varric that the boy — while an enigma in and of himself — was a force to be reckoned with; mysterious, deadly, and utterly silent.

 _“I’m telling you,”_ Athenril had said to him. _“I have the best hearing in the city, and yet even I don't know he’s near until he’s already upon me."_

 _"Nobody is that quiet,"_ Varric had replied.

 _"Tethras,"_ she said with a defeated exhale, looking down at her feet, _"if this boy had wanted me dead, I would have been just that.”_

Varric had to know more.

He watched Bethany and her mysterious brother meander down the Hightown streets. The girl seemed delightful enough. She had curves in all the right places that moved in all the right ways as she walked, her hair was black, her eyes were bright blue and smiling, and she paid no real attention to those around her. The Hawk, on the other hand, was a severe, lithe little man. If Varric hadn't known better, he'd say the lad couldn't have been more than sixteen. He was only slightly taller than his younger sister, but his shoulders were narrow and his limbs were lean. It was immediately obvious how he had earned the unusual moniker; a brown mask that covered the bottom half of his face was pulled tight against the bridge of his nose, giving his silhouette an avian point. His hood of the same color came down over his brow, revealing little else of his face other than the severe golden-amber of his eyes. It was odd to Varric how such a bright, warm colour could look so fierce and frigid as it did framed in the Hawk’s face. His sister’s obliviousness was only amplified by the hyper-awareness that he seemed to possess; his eyes were always moving, always observing. 

However, the fact that the boy had done a rather good job of making himself _look_ imposing was irrelevant, and whether or not he had the skill set Varric needed him to have was yet to be seen. 

“Okay, there they are,” Varric said to the copper-haired urchin he’d hired. “You remember what to do?”

“Yeah, I remember alright. Didn’t you say one of them was a mage, ser? What do I do if she magics me to death?”

“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Varric chastised, tossing him the agreed upon gold piece. “She wouldn’t show off her magic in Hightown, not with a Templar on every corner. Now go. And don’t forget to meet me back at the Hanged Man for the other half of your payment.”

“Yeah, alright,” the urchin agreed with a reluctant nod. He watched the kid settle himself in the middle of the square to wait for the siblings to pass, so Varric decided it was safe to get to his hiding place in the dark alley. Once the boy stole Bethany’s coin purse, they would no doubt chase him down the alley so Varric could play hero.

Why earn gratitude when you could just as easily buy it?

“Hey!” he could hear the girl shouting from around the corner. “Come back here, you mongrel!”

Sure enough, the urchin came barreling down the empty alley. Varric pulled Bianca off his back and loaded an arrow. She settled into her comfortable spot on his shoulder and he waited for the boy to come into his sights. 

The mage came sprinting around the corner, quite a ways behind the urchin. Varric figured it was hard for her to run in the robes she had on. He had to wait for her to be able to see his heroic rescue, else what good would it be?

That thought alone was the undoing of his plan. 

Before he could even draw a proper bead on the kid, a cloud of smoke exploded in the middle of the alley. The boy kept sprinting, aiming to run straight through it, but he never came out on the other side. Instead, Varric heard a terrified wail come from the midst of the smoke. 

When the fog had finally cleared enough for Varric to see, the Hawk had the boy in a strangle-hold, pressing a curved blade against his throat. 

“Andraste’s flaming girdle,” Varric cursed softly to himself. 

“Please, don’t kill me,” the urchin wailed, dropping the coin purse in the street. “I didn’t mean no ‘arm, I promise.”

“Oh, let him go,” the breathless mage said as she finally caught up to the pair. 

The Hawk didn’t say anything. 

“Oh, come on. Just let him go,” Bethany demanded again. “We have more important things to worry about.”

The man scoffed and shoved the boy in the direction he had been running. The red-haired street rat stumbled a little before sprinting his way out of the alley.

“Well,” Varric said, coming down from his perch and putting Bianca back in her place on his back. “Nothing like another man to ruin a daring rescue.”

“A what?” Bethany asked. The siblings turned around to look at him. Bethany tilted her head to the side, but the Hawk’s eyes just narrowed, scrutinizing the dwarf in front of them. The weight of his furious gaze indeed made Varric feel like a carcass ripe for harvesting. It was then that Varric realized just how appropriate the assassin's moniker was. 

“A, uh…” he cleared his throat. “Another man. Here I thought I was going to rescue the damsel in distress when I heard you cry out, but it seems that your rather swift brother took the wind out of my sails.”

The mage stifled a laugh, and the rogue shot her a cold glare in turn. 

“Honestly,” she said. “Aren’t you sick of that yet?”

The Hawk gave her the sign for ‘quit’, running the flat of his hand across his neck. 

Varric squinted. “I feel an awful lot like I’m being left out of a joke.”

“It is, indeed, a joke,” Bethany scoffed. “Apparently, you are not allowed to be in on it.”

“I can live with that,” Varric said, bending down to pick up their coin purse from the street. “All families have their secrets.”

“Some more than others,” Bethany mumbled before thanking the dwarf for handing her back the purse. “And you are?”

“Forgive my manners,” he said with a dramatic bow. “Varric Tethras, Merchant Prince of Kirkwall.”

“Tethras? Are you by any chance related to Bartrand Tethras?”

“A true—yet nonetheless unpleasant—relation I assure you.” 

She shared a meaningful glance with her brother.

“A pleasure. Bethany Amell,” she said, holding out her hand. Varric kissed the back of it in greeting. “And this is my, erm…”

“The Hawk,” Varric helped. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

“Not enough, obviously,” Bethany said, sinking into a hip. 

“I don’t follow,” Varric said, looking between the siblings.

“Oh, come on," she urged. “You can’t keep this up forever. He’s related to Bartrand; maybe he can help us.”

The Hawk sighed and, with no small amount of reluctance, pulled down her hood and mask. 

Her black hair was tied back into a low pony-tail and her face, though still severe, was just as becoming as her sisters. Whatever curves she had were concealed under the long sleeved wrap-tunic and pants. 

“You know, that’s how you catch flies,” she said as she crossed her arms. 

That was when Varric realized his mouth was open.

“Apologies again,” Varric said with a laugh. “I’m rather unused to being surprised.”

“We’d gathered that much.”

* * *

Varric led them back to the Hanged Man so the three of them could talk privately in his personal quarters. He was glad to see the urchin wasn't waiting for him. 

“So,” Varric began once they all had taken a seat, “I have to know: why are you pretending to be a man?”

The Hawk had again donned her hood and mask before walking through the city and, despite Varric's assurance that their privacy was protected in his room, she didn't remove them on the chance someone would walk in. Even when she spoke, it was soft enough to conceal her voice.

“I’m not _pretending_ ,” she said. “People assumed and I never corrected them.”

“Besides,” Bethany added, leaning on her elbows. “I hate to admit it but her stupid plan works quite well.”

“Plan…” Varric said, looking to Hawk for clarification.

“Back in Ferelden, we couldn’t get anything done unless our brother was with us.”

“There’s another one?”

“ _Was_ ,” Bethany added. “There was another one. My twin brother, Carver.”

“Oh… I’m sorry for—”

“Don’t," Hawk interrupted. "It’s over."

Varric cleared his throat when the silence grew awkward.

“Anyway,” Hawk continued, “when we got here, everyone just started spreading the rumor that I was a man, and people started obliging us.”

“It’s true,” her sister confirmed. “When I go anywhere without her, no one even makes eye contact with me.”

“They probably would if your breasts didn’t flounce about like tassels in the wind.”

“They do not _flounce_ ,” the mage said, looking down at her chest, then back up at Varric. “Do they?”

“I uh…” He coughed into his hand. “I refuse to answer on the grounds that my answer may incriminate me.”

“That means yes,” the rogue said. 

“So,” Varric interrupted. “You said I might be able to help you somehow? How do you know Bartrand?”

“We heard about the venture he’s planning for the year's end," Bethany explained. "By that time, we will be out of Athenril’s employ and figured we could try to get in on the expedition, but he would have none of it. We need the money to get rid of Carver’s—”

“Still your tongue, girl,” the Hawk snapped. “He need not know all our secrets.”

“Honestly, ‘Nara, if he already knows your secret what is the point in hiding the rest?”

“Knowing I am a woman is hardly the same thing as being able to put us in danger.”

“Must you mistrust _everyone_ we meet?”

“Ladies, please,” Varric said, putting a hand up for silence. “I believe I can fill in the blanks.”

Both the girl’s faces snapped to the side to look at his. 

“You were not only running from the darkspawn, but once your brother died, you knew whoever was going to be coming for him would eventually come for you. So upon arriving in our fair city, the lot of you took up your mother’s maiden name to protect your identities.”

“You are quite well-informed,” the rogue said, a sharp edge in her tone as she stood and pressed her palms flat on the table. 

“Calm your tail-feathers ‘ _the Hawk_ ’,” he said with sarcastic air quotes. “I take it upon myself to stay well informed. It wasn’t difficult to research the young Lady Amell and with it her mysterious disappearance and rumored marriage to a Ferelden.”

"And why, pray, were you researching my family at all?"

"Like I said," he added, resting his chin on his knuckles. "I take it upon myself to stay well informed."

Hawk pushed off from the table and started to pace. “Bethany, go wait outside.”

“But I—”

“Just do it!”

Bethany exhaled and her shoulders slumped a little before sending an apologetic glance toward Varric. Once the door closed, the Hawk exhaled and rubbed her eyes as she continued to pace.

“I am wary to trust you, dwarf.”

“As well you should be,” he said with a careless wave of his hand. “I am exceedingly untrustworthy.”

She continued as if she was more talking to herself than addressing him. 

“If you can figure out so much over the course of a few weeks, it’s only a matter of time before Darrin and his men do it, too.” She pulled her hood and mask down around her neck and raked her fingers through her hair, forcing jagged strands to come loose from the ribbon holding it back. 

“Do not worry your pretty head over it, my dear,” he said, leaning back and resting an elbow on the arm of his chair. “Information is part of my business.”

“And what exactly _is_ your business, Ser Tethras?”

“An easier question would, of course, be 'what _isn’t_ my business.'”

“Now, you listen to me,” she threatened, gripping the arms of his chair in her hands and looming over him. “I have spent my life trying to protect my family. If you in any way jeopardize that, I will string you up before—”

“Yes, yes, you are very intimidating and I am shivering in my boots, milady,” he said with a smile, waving a careless hand. “Now, if you want my help with Bartrand’s expedition, I have a right to know with whom I am involving myself.”

There was a long, tense silence as they looked at each other, but Varric knew defeat when he saw it. Her eyes softened in her sharp face, and eventually she lowered her head with a sigh. 

“I need your word that you will keep what I tell you to yourself.”

“What is the word of a man you do not trust?”

“At least if I have your word, I have reason to gut you should you betray me. If I do not take your word on it, only I am to blame when you inevitably turn on us.”

“Inevitable, is it?”

“Your word, dwarf.”

“Very well. I swear on my life as a gentleman that your secrets will not pass my lips.”

“Thank you,” she said softly before falling back into her own chair. “What is it you wish to know?”

“Who is it that you are hiding from?”

“All I know is his name is Darrin. My brother is… was… quite the gambler. He developed the terrible habit shortly after our father died, and before we even realized how severe the problem was he had already accumulated an outrageous debt." She cleared her throat and let her eyes fall down onto the table in front of her. "I told him that it was his problem and that he would have to solve it himself. You have to understand, I was already pilfering wherever I could to feed Bethany and my mother. I suppose it didn't matter in the end because before any resolution was to be had the Blight was upon us."

“And you had to run.”

“Yes,” she said, looking off to the side. “That's when he died. We were overwhelmed and very tired. He charged the ogre before I could even formulate a plan.”

“That hardly seems like anyone’s fault but his own.”

“It was my job to protect him,” she snapped, but soon thought better of it. “He knew the creditors would come for us and managed to tell us as much before he breathed his last. Since my mother was already known here as Amell, we decided to go by that surname to protect ourselves.”

“And what is your real surname?”

“Hawke.”

“Ah-ha," he said with a knowing smile. "I see now where you got the nickname.”

“Most of my acquaintances in Ferelden called me Hawke. The clothes were needed for my craft. People naturally started seeing the likeness.”

“How long do you have left in Athenril’s employ?”

“Six months.”

“How much does she pay you?”

“She doesn’t.”

“She… wait, what?”

“A year of service was the agreed upon price for getting us into the city. We were merely refugees, and our uncle had squandered whatever fortune was left to the Amell name.”

“Ah yes, I’m rather familiar with Gamlen and his… particular character.”

“You and all of Thedas, it seems.”

“Still… a year of servitude? How have you been living if Athenril doesn’t pay you?”

“We work for her during daylight hours, mostly. I do what I can at night, but there are only so many hours in a day.” Hawke obviously grew uncomfortable under the weight of the conversation and shifted in her chair. “Well, you have certainly learned more about my family than I ever intended to reveal to you. Now, will you help us or not?”

“Madame, I am offended by your assumption. Of course, I will help you. I have been looking for someone with skill sets such as yours for several months, and you came highly recommended by Athenril.”

“Wait, you were looking for help?”

“Aye, so it would seem. Bartrand’s expedition is obviously something I’m involved in, but I don’t exactly trust my brother to head such a feat without it becoming quite the disaster. No, I would rather have men of my own. Men that I trust.”

She quirked an amused brow in his direction.

“Though… I’m obviously a little lenient on the whole ‘men’ aspect of it.”

“Well, if you can get us into that expedition, you have yourself a deal.”

Varric held out his hand and Hawke shook it.

“You shake hands like a man,” Varric said with a laugh.

“Funny,” she said, giving him his first glimpse of her smile. “I was about to say the same about you.”

“Hawke, my dear, I think we are going to get along just fine.”

* * *

Varric warmed to the rogue almost immediately, though, as he expected, the reverse took a few weeks longer. In the end he won her over more easily than he had originally anticipated, finding that when her true personality shone through the severity, they were actually quite alike.

The weeks melted away as Hawke worked for Athenril by day and planned for the expedition with Varric at night. Whenever he would catch wind of a job that needed doing, he would pass it her way. Together they would get it done, saving what coin they could where they could.

“Tell me, Sunshine,” Varric asked as he walked through Lowtown with Bethany. “Has Hawke always been so…”

“Cold? Untrusting? Vicious?”

“I was going to be much more charismatic about it.”

The girl laughed. “Do not be deceived by the way she glares. I can assure you there is no one in Thedas more generous and kind, but we have all been betrayed before. She is simply…”

“Careful,” Varric added. “That I can certainly understand.”

They made their way to the Hanged Man where they had agreed to meet Hawke once her business for Athenril was done. 

“You know,” Varric teased as Hawke came into the room that night, “I’m almost ashamed that I didn’t think of this gender swapping thing sooner.”

“You _didn’t_ think of it,” she said as she pulled down her mask. 

“I would have, and as such I deserve all the credit. Regardless, it is surprisingly successful.”

“It’s discouraging,” Bethany said, leaning her chin on her fist. “I can’t seem to get anything done until you show up and glare at someone.”

“Well,” Hawke said, taking her seat and leaning back to put her feet on the table. “It would probably help if you stopped dressing like you work at the whore house.”

“Some of us are not ashamed of our sex.”

“And some of us like to be productive members of society. To each their own, I suppose.” 

The girls smiled wickedly at each other. Originally, their jabs to each other made Varric a little uncomfortable and awkward. However it wasn’t long before he realized that it was simply good-natured ribbing, and Varric was always happy to involve himself in that. 

“Regardless,” he added, “even I am surprised to see how quickly the rumors have spread.”

“What rumors?” Bethany asked. 

“Have you not heard what they say?” he crowed, standing up. “The Hawk: a demon from hell, the deadliest rogue to pick up a dagger, an omen of doom to all who see him walk by, women swooning at his feet as he passes!”

“You wretched dwarf,” Hawke said, smiling and pounding a fist on the table. “Those are all _your_ rumors.”

“Perish the thought, serah! I tell only tales of truth!”

“Yes, like that dragon you killed the other day,” Bethany added. “I believe it was ‘a hundred feet tall,’ wasn't it?”

“It was a hundred feet if it was an inch!”

“Sometimes I wonder at whether or not you actually believe your own nonsense,” Hawke said with a smile.

“If you do not believe your own lies, how do you expect to convince anyone else?” When the girls didn't laugh, but merely looked at him like he was a fool, he continued. “All I’m saying is that the ‘dark silent killer’ thing is really working for us. I daresay we’ll be able to take on groups of men with your reputation alone, soon enough.”

“We cannot count on all our enemies being as superstitious as you suppose them to be,” Hawke added.

“Did you see the way those smugglers cowered when you came out of the shadows last night? Took all my strength not to piss myself laughing.”

“Would that I could end all our battles with a cold stare.”

* * *

“ _Varric_ ” Hawke shouted, planting her leather-wrapped feet firmly on his bare chest as he snored. She bounced up and down on him until he roused.  
   
“Fffmhhhuh? Mmmwhat — what? What's happening?” he murmured, rubbing his eyes and failing to focus them on whoever was rudely interrupting his dreams. “Andraste’s flaming ass-cheeks, Hawke. Do you have any idea what time it is?”  
   
“It’s the middle of the day, Lazy Bones.”  
   
“Exactly. You should know better than to wake me before the sun goes back down.”  
   
“If you didn’t stay up all night swindling drunks out of their money, maybe you could wake up at a decent hour.”  
   
He ran his hand down his face and peered at her with one eye through his fingers.  
   
“Is there a reason you’re still on top of me, you daft human?”  
   
“It’s been a year,” she sang, bouncing on him again and making him grunt against the weight on his chest.  
   
“A year of what?” he asked, putting his hands on her knees and shoving her off of him. She landed on her feet at the edge of his bed in her usual, avian crouch.  
   
“Since I arrived, you twat,” she said. “I’m free!”  
   
“No shit?” he said with a grin, hoisting himself up on his elbows. “Has it already been six months since we met?”

“Afraid so, my friend,” she said with the tilt of her head. “How I’ve survived six months of your ugly mug, I’ll never know.”

“It is a feat, indeed. Most women succumb to their deep-seeded desire by now.”

“Your ridiculous, undeserved ego aside, now that I’m free, we can talk to Bartrand about starting the expedition. You don’t have to keep stalling him anymore.”

He rubbed his eyes with the side of his hand. “Ah-hah, so that’s why you’ve come at this ungodly hour of the morning.”

“Good lord, man, it’s two hours passed noon!”

“Semantics.”

“Now, if you would get your hairy ass out of bed, we could get a move on.”

“Well, I would, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to  _see_  aforementioned hairy ass. Situation being what it is, I recommend you leave now.”  
   
Realization dawned in Hawke’s eyes followed very quickly by amused disgust.  
   
“You’re insufferable.”

“I love you, too, dear. Now get out.”


	2. The Slave

“What is this, a joke?” Bartrand spat. He crossed his arms, giving a sideways glance to the strangers standing with Varric in the Hightown Market. Varric noted that his brother's displeasure was rather obvious, and knew immediately Bartrand was going to try and pull one over on them.

“These are my men,” Varric said, gesturing a dramatic hand toward Bethany and Hawke. “This is who I will be bringing to the expedition.”

“Men, my ass,” the dwarf said with an angry wave of his hand. “One of them’s a woman!”

Varric coughed in his hand to keep himself from pointing out that Bartrand was only half right. 

“What’s your point, Bartrand?" Varric asked. "As your partner, I’m bringing in my own team. My three versus your… how many? Twenty?”

“Well, maybe I don’t need your three anymore,” Bartrand replied. “I don’t know how you managed to get the Hawk to kowtow to you, if that is indeed the real Hawk, but I have plenty of manpower without you.”

“You know you can’t run this rig by yourself, Bartrand. Don’t try to lift up my skirt and tell me it’s windy.”

“ _Your_ skirt isn’t the one I’m interested in,” Bartrand said, eyeing Bethany up and down. 

“You’re lucky that I respect Varric,” Bethany said with a flirtatious sway of her hips, “else I’d boil your skin right off your face.”

“Don’t worry, Sunshine,” Varric cooed. “He’s all bark.”

“Listen, Varric, if you and your… freak show want in on the expedition, you are going to have to bring in a little something other than a pair of blades and a pair of tits.”

Varric put his hand up when Bethany went to protest again. “Like what?” he asked instead.

“Like money," Bartrand replied. "I’m funding this whole thing by myself. You want to be a partner, Varric? You’re going to have to start acting like it. The fact that you’re my brother doesn’t get you a free pass anymore. You and your two… friends… come up with seventy-five sovereigns and—”

“Seventy-five sovereigns?!” Bethany blurted. 

“Yes, seventy-five. That’s twenty-five apiece. If the Hawk is as good as everyone seems to say he is, that should be pocket change.”

Bartrand ran his eyes up Hawke’s lithe form. She stood defiantly with her arms crossed and her weight on her back foot. Bartrand squinted to try and see under her hood, and Varric watched as she took her cue beautifully. She leveled her gaze at Bartrand, narrowing her frigid, yellow eyes ever-so-slightly. Bartrand cleared his throat and averted his eyes in an attempt to look unshaken, but Varric knew better. There was nothing he loved quite as much as watching his brother squirm.

“Anyway," Bartrand continued, suddenly very interested in dusting invisible dirt off his pants. “There is still plenty of time. We need a way into the Deep Roads still, so you have until I find one to come up with the coin."

“You drive a hard bargain, brother,” Varric said, motioning for the girls to follow him, “but you have yourself a deal.”

The trio managed to keep their composure the entire walk back to the Hanged Man before falling into their chairs in defeated slumps. 

"Seventy-five sovereigns," Bethany said, more to herself than her party. "If we had that kind of coin, we wouldn't need Bartrand's idiotic expedition." 

"I'll have much more free time since our servitude to Athenril is done," Hawke offered, pulling her mask down around her neck, "but even then... I'm good, but I don't know if I'm 'seventy-five-sovereigns' good."

"We might not need that much," Varric said, rubbing his eyes with a forefinger and thumb. 

"I knew it," Bethany said, clapping her hands together. "You have a plan."

"Don't I always?" he asked, tossing her one of his smiles. 

"I'm atwitter with anticipation," Hawke drawled, leaning her head on her hand. 

"I have a lead I might have to chase down," he said, resting his elbows on the table, "but I think I can find a way into the Deep Roads. If we can bring that to Bartrand, I have a hunch he'll be a little lenient on the price of admission."

"You think he'll go for that?" Bethany asked. 

"He'd be a fool not to," Varric said with a shrug. "Until I can figure that out, we'll just have to pilfer and steal what we can."

"You know, you _could_ always take honest work," Bethany offered. 

"Honest work doesn't pay quite as well," Hawke said with a smirk.

Bethany gave her sister a less-than-amused quirk of her eyebrows. 

"We won't turn _down_ honest work, Sunshine," Varric interrupted, "but it doesn't really seem to find its way to us quite as often."

"Might I remind you," Hawke said, propping an elbow up on the table and leaning toward Bethany, "the Blooming Rose is honest work."

Bethany clicked her tongue and narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

"That's what I thought."

* * *

Hawke had a hard time getting a proper reading on Anso. Normally she would have assumed he was lying and berated him for the truth if he wanted their help, but Varric had assured them that Anso's jittery behavior was nothing more than top-side sickness. 

Since they started collecting coin for the Deep Roads expedition they had added two to their merry party. A mage that used to be a grey warden — Anders was his name — who had a map of the Deep Road's they'd be able to use. Then there was the elf girl, Merrill, who they somehow managed to get saddled with. What had started as a trip to the Wounded Coast to finish with the task the Witch of the Wilds had given them turned into being hired as full-time blood mage sitters.

There were precious few things Hawke and Bethany hated more than blood mages, considering they were exactly the reason Bethany had to hide all the time. It turned out, though, that Merrill was impossible not to like, kind-hearted thing that she was, so she came along on their missions more frequently as time went on. She was certainly more fun to have around than the depressing mage. Hawke still didn't trust either of them, however, so she decided it was in the party's best interests to keep her identity, and gender, a secret. 

Better for them to fear her than to give them the chance to betray her.

Hawke, along with Bethany, Varric, and Merrill, said their farewells to Anso and made their way down into the Alienage to fetch whatever was in this chest for their new — less than sane — employer. 

Her comrades all entered the shack without a second thought, following Varric as he took the lead, per usual. Hawke stopped in the doorway when that all-too-familiar feeling that she was being watched crept up her spine. She turned around, slowly, and scanned her surroundings. She saw a flash of silver duck into the shadows on the rooftops across the square. Someone was watching them, and it wasn't Anso. She pretended not to see anything and turned to duck into the hut, shutting the door behind her. 

“Varric,” she whispered into his ear as he tried to open the chest. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“What kind of bad feeling? 'It’s a trap' bad feeling? Or 'we’re not getting paid' bad feeling?”

“Someone was watching us out there, so I imagine both.”

The lock on the chest clicked and Varric pulled up the top, revealing nothing but dust. 

“Sodding waste of my damned time,” Varric cursed to himself, kicking the chest. 

“What happened?” Bethany said, poking her head in from the other room. 

“There’s nothing in the chest,” Varric spat.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Merrill said. “At least it’s good practice, no?”

All three turned to stare at her.

“Umm… or not,” she corrected. 

“Nothing in the chest means we’ve walked ourselves into a damned trap,” Varric continued, lowering his gaze so that it fell onto the ground in front of his feet. Hawke noticed the change in Varric since they started bringing the newcomers along. When it had been just himself, Bethany, and Hawke, he would be the snarky wordsmith that they knew and loved. Now that he was leading not just them but Anders and Merrill also, Hawke could see that he felt the weight of every decision much more pointedly.

“Why would Anso want to trap us?” Bethany asked. 

“Yes,” Merrill added. “We haven’t done anything. Lately, anyway. I mean, that I know of.”

“It doesn’t matter why, Daisy. What matters is how we get out of it.”

Hawke stayed silent, but got everyone’s attention with a wave of her hand. She ran her hand back and forth across her throat, directing the gesture towards Bethany.

“What’s he saying?” Merrill asked. 

“No magic,” Bethany clarified. “If it’s a trap, we don’t know who has set it or if they know we’re mages.”

Hawke pointed at her as if to confirm what she was saying. 

“He said all that?”

“Eh… kind of.”

“Alright let’s get the hell out of here,” Varric said, taking Bianca off his back. “Show time.”

* * *

Fenris watched from the rooftop as the hunters filtered into the Alienage, surrounding the small hut that contained Varric and his crew. Fenris had heard about them in the time he'd been hiding out in Kirkwall's undercity. Varric was their leader and often had seemingly random people in tow. However, it was rare to see Varric out and about without his pet Hawk. It was rumored that the Hawk was Varric's shadow come alive. The man didn't speak, didn't smile, he barely even existed. It was all ridiculous, of course, but it was good to finally see the men behind the foolish myths circulating through the city. Fenris, even with his sharp, elven eyes, couldn't really get a good look at them from across the square, but the bright yellow of the Hawk's eyes were hard to miss. They peered out from under his hood, catching flecks of the moonlight as he peered around before he turned to follow his comrades into the shack. 

Now they were all surrounded, and Fenris was the reason for it. He hoped silently that they were as good as the rumors said they were. He had enough innocent lives on his conscience; he didn't need more. 

He watched three of the four come out of the hut and stand before the mob. Varric, with the two women behind him, leaned on his back foot, casually exchanging banter with the hunters. He couldn't hear exactly what was being said, but Fenris knew when someone was stalling for time. To their credit, even _**he**_ with his birds-eye-view didn't see the Hawk come up behind the mob to start systematically, and silently, killing them off. One of his hands would cover the targets mouth, the other would quickly pull his dagger across their throat; then he would slowly lower the corpse to the ground. He was utterly silent and amazingly quick. 

The rogue managed to take seven of the hunters down before Varric's stalling failed and the open melee began. Fenris had intended to jump down and help them fell the rest of the mob, but his ears twitched as he heard the sound of metal clanking behind him. He turned to see another, smaller group of hunters heading toward the steps. Varric and his party were handling the current mob quite efficiently, so Fenris took it upon himself to jump down and surprise this new group. 

Fenris made rather quick work of the smaller group of men, there were only nine or ten. When he finished he heard the supposed leader of them around the corner. He assumed the human was addressing Varric and his crew, since it didn't make sense for him to have been talking to his own soldiers so viciously. 

"Your men are dead," Fenris said, coming around the corner to stand at the top of the steps, "and your trap has failed. Run back to your master while you still have the chance."

The soldier turned around to address Fenris, crossing his arms and chewing on his words. 

"I'm not going anywhere without you, slave," he said, turning his head to spit on the ground. 

"Most unwise," Fenris said, feeling that familiar anger building in him. "I implore you to reconsider, for your own good." 

"Or what?" the soldier said with a laugh, unsheathing his sword. "Does the slave think he can—"

His words were cut off by a gurgling sound deep in his throat. 

The man's heart was still beating in Fenris' hand as the corpse fell upon the Alienage steps. 

"I am not a slave," Fenris growled quietly before taking a deep breath and forcing the electricity in his markings to fade away.

When Fenris looked up, the four strangers were all staring back at them. He took their stunned silence as an opportunity to get a good look at each of them standing at the bottom of the steps. The women, a human and a Dale, both stared at the heart in his hand with a combination of confusion and horror. Varric seemed mildly curious but was obviously more annoyed than anything else. The Hawk, on the other hand, was the only one of the group looking at Fenris' face. The rogue's eyes were narrowed to angry slits, and the weight of his gaze was unnerving. Even though the man's eyes were gold with flecks of orange, Fenris was quite sure it was the most frigid gaze he had ever received. 

In that moment, the only thing Fenris knew for a fact was that the Hawk was not one to be trifled with. 

“I… apologize,” Fenris said as he let the bloody organ slip from his hand. “When I had enlisted a distraction, I had no idea the hunters would be so… numerous.”  
   
“So you’re who they were looking for?” the Dalish girl asked.

“I am.”

“Distraction,” Varric repeated. “So was all of this ‘job’ bullshit?”  
   
“Not all,” Fenris assured. “Your employer simply was not who you thought. My name is Fenris. These men were imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover their magister’s lost property.”  
   
“That's what all this is?” Varric asked, exasperated. "A slave hunt?"  
   
“Seems like an awful lot of effort to bring back one slave,” the human girl offered.  
   
“Yes, it is, but I was no ordinary slave.”  
   
“Obviously,” the elven girl said with a laugh. “I’ve never seen vallaslin light up like that before.”  
   
"These are not Dalish blood writing," Fenris snapped, gesturing a hand toward his throat. "But your inference is correct. They are the reason my former master hunts me."  
   
“Yes, yes, you’re a glowing mystery,” Varric said, waving a hand, “but I don’t appreciate being lied to. Well, at least not about money.”  
   
“If you are able, and willing, I would enlist your help further. Danarius is currently in this city, and I must reach him before he finds that his retrieval attempt has failed. I will pay you what coin I have immediately afterward.”  
   
“What will you do when we find him?” the Dale asked.  
   
“I will take my freedom,” he replied coldly. “By force.”  
   
“Killing a Magister,” Varric said, scratching the top of his head. “That sounds like an awful lot of trouble.”  
   
Varric looked up at the Hawk as if waiting for an answer to a question that wasn't asked.  
   
“He’s a former  _slave_  fighting for his  _freedom_ ,” the human girl said, looking to the rogue. “We all know how you feel about slavery.”  
   
The rogue exhaled through his nose, still not taking his eyes off Fenris’ face. After a few dramatic moments of silence he looked down at the dwarf and nodded, so slightly Fenris wondered if he had done it at all. 

For simply being an employee, this rogue seemed to hold an awful lot of sway.  
   
“Very well, Starshine,” Varric said. “Looks like we’re in. I’m Varric Tethras, Merchant Prince of Kirkwall.”

“I’m Merrill,” the Dale said with a childish wave. “Nice to meet you, Fenris.”  
   
“Bethany.”

The Hawk stayed silent and immovable.  
   
“Oh right. This is Hawke,” Varric said, pointing a thumb up at the rogue. “Doesn’t talk much, this one.”  
   
“I have heard the rumors,” Fenris offered.

"Have you? Excellent," Varric said — seeming a little more prideful than Fenris thought he should have been — before turning to Merril. "Daisy, why don’t you run on home since we’re already so close. I trust you can find your way back from the Alienage steps?”  
   
“Please, Varric,” the girl said. “I can see my house from here. I’m not  _that_  bad at finding my way, am I?”  
   
“Eh, no comment.”  
   
Fenris thanked them as he knelt to rifle through one of the dead hunters things. He promised them that he would repay them somehow, knowing full well the coin he had would certainly not be enough. Once he found the address of Danrius' hiding place, they set off for Hightown. 

He stayed mostly quiet on the journey, observing his new companions. It was much like what he observed in the Alienage; the dwarf lead, chattering away with Bethany, and Hawke followed from behind. Instead of merely bringing up the rear, he made a point of keeping in step with Fenris.  
   
Hawke was weighing him, and Fenris found he was anxious about the man's final judgment.

He noted that the rogue was of much smaller stature than most human men Fenris had experience with. Hawke was lithe, wiry, and a few inches shorter than him. He kept trying to figure out what about the man was so unsettling, but he couldn’t put his finger on it; before he could, the dwarf had interrupted his train of thought.   
   
“So,” Varric said. “I could stand to know more about this magister whose face we’re about to maul.”  
   
“Danarius is a magister of the Tevinter Imperium.”  
   
“Oh, is that all?” Varric drawled. “So, nothing to worry about then.”  
   
“His power means nothing here," Fenris assured. "He is but a man, who sweats like any other when death comes for him.”  
   
“His power must mean  _something_  if he can send a squadron of his own personal bounty hunters to set a trap for one slave.”  
   
“Speaking of which," Fenris said, perking up as the thought crossed his mind, "what was in the chest that served as the trap?”  
   
“It was sodding empty,” Varric spat. “Like my pockets.”  
   
Fenris didn’t say anything, just exhaled a slow breath and looked to the side. Of course it was empty; Danarius would never risk losing the scroll, no matter how sure he was that a trap would work. He was a fool for daring to expect anything more. 

“What were you expecting to be in it?” Bethany asked, voicing the question they were all thinking, no doubt.  
   
“It doesn’t matter,” he admitted, putting his hands behind his back. “I should have known better in the first place. It was bait, nothing more.”

When Fenris turned back toward the party, Hawke’s eyes were hanging on him. He was unused to being unable to read someone’s intentions, and he found it rather annoying. A life of servitude made anticipating people’s needs and true agenda’s second nature to Fenris. Thusly he had learned to hide his feelings behind a mask of aloofness, keeping his expression always steady and calm. Letting people know what stirred your emotions was merely giving them ammunition to use against you. 

He wondered what it was that Hawke was hiding from. 

He knew a thing or two about hiding.

As he listened to the sound of their footsteps echoing through the silence, he realized that, of the four of them, he only heard three sets of footsteps; the dwarf’s heavy ones, the girl’s dainty ones, and his own. He looked down at Hawke’s feet and saw that they were tightly wrapped in a similar material to the rest of his leathery gear. He took slow, wide, _silent_ steps. 

It was a well-known fact that elves possessed better hearing than humans, and oftentimes this very thing was the difference that allowed Fenris to escape an ambush. Perhaps the rumors were true and the human was little more than a shadow. Whatever Hawke was, Fenris knew it would be unwise to show the man his back.

* * *

“I should have known,” Fenris sneered, punching a hole through one of the walls of the mansion. “Coward that he is, I should have known he wouldn’t be here.” He turned to briefly address his companions, turning just enough that he could see them over his shoulder. “Take whatever you can find, it means nothing to me.” With that he stomped down the stairs and out the side door. 

“Well,” Hawke said, bringing her mask down. “Anything good?”

“Plenty,” Varric said, stuffing a few choice trinkets in his pockets. “Just enough to make this venture worthwhile.”

“Praise the Maker for that, then,” Bethany added. “What do you think of the elf?”

Hawke exhaled. “I certainly don’t want to enter a moping contest with him, that’s for certain.”

“Absolutely,” Varric affirmed. “Elf does enough brooding for the lot of us.”

“Between him and Anders, we’re going to have to hold a contest to see who can ruin a party faster. Though, I’ll admit that they’re useful, if nothing else.”

Varric laughed. “I can see it now. _The Plight of the Mages Versus the Plight of the Slaves: A Drama in Three Acts!”_

“Emphasis on the _drama_ ,” Hawke added. 

“Well… say what you will,” Bethany said. “At least they’re nice to look at.”

“Honestly, girl,” Hawke teased, pulling her mask back up. “Keep your skirts on. I don’t trust either of them.”

“Obviously,” she retorted. “As long as they both think you’re sporting the same equipment as them twixt your legs, I think it’s safe to assume that you don’t trust them.”

“Har-har.”

* * *

Mages. Could he never escape them? Was Fenris forever doomed to live in the shadow of their magic? Now he'd found himself indebted to a group of one mage and her mage sympathizers. What had he done to earn such disdain from the universe?

The sound of the party exiting the mansion interrupted his thoughts.

“It never ends,” he said, turning to face them. “Hunted by their dark magic at every turn, tortured by their whims, only to find myself once again in the company of mages.”

“You do know I’m right here,” Bethany said, cocking out a hip. “You can talk directly to me.”

“Do not hide what you are, apostate. I saw your magic.”

“You forget, _slave_ , that it is not _**I**_ who is hiding.”

Fenris sneered and pointed a threatening finger in Bethany’s face, but turned to address Varric. 

“You harbor a viper in your midst,” he swore. “It is not to be trusted and will turn on you when you least expect it, mark my words.”

“Funny how easy it is to complain, now that you don’t need me to heal your sorry, glowing hide.”

“I am not blind, _apostate_. I understand magic has its uses, but even the strongest mage can fall prey to blood magic. Then what happens when you give into its call? What happens when you turn into a burden for others to bear? What happens when it is _your_ family that pays the price?”

Fenris saw the words hurt the mage, but that was all he managed to see before Hawke’s fist plunged into his face. He slammed into the wall behind him, and didn’t even have a chance to react before the paper thin blade was pressed into the flesh of his throat. He clenched his jaw to keep himself from reacting.

The rogue’s eyes looked like fire under the force of his rage. The orange around his pupils had spread, overtaking the bright gold of his irises.

“It’s fine,” Bethany said, putting a hand on Hawke’s shoulder.

“Listen, Starlight,” Varric lilted. “I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s a bad move to insult Hawke’s sister, but allow me to remind you that it was _you_ who asked for our help and _you_ who brought us here.”

Bethany was Hawke’s sister. Interesting.

“I… imagine I seem ungrateful.” He exhaled a slow breath and met Hawke’s eyes again. “That is not my intention, I apologize. It could not be further from the truth.”

The rogue’s eyes darted back and forth between Fenris’ — as if weighing whether or not to believe him — before pulling the blade away from his throat and taking a step back.

“That’s nice, we’re all friends,” Varric said with a sarcastic clap of his hands. “Now, does someone want to explain to me what the hell is going on? What’s with the hissy fit? What makes you so valuable that an army of blood mages is sent to recapture you?”

“And when do I get paid?” Bethany added in her best Varric impression.

“You wound me, Sunshine. Am I not allowed to care for the plight of a slave who fought tooth and nail for his freedom, only to be down trodden and hunted the rest of his days?”  
   
Hawke rolled his eyes.  
   
Fenris’ ears twitched and he quirked a brow in confusion.  
   
“He likes to tell stories,” Bethany clarified.

“And since you brought it up,” Varric continued, “when _am_ I going to get paid?”

“Well, Danarius or no, I owe you all a debt,” Fenris said, taking the small purse from his belt and tossing it to Varric. “It’s not much, but it’s all I have.”

Varric caught it gladly, bouncing it in his hand to check its weight before putting it in his pocket. 

“I’m still confused as to why this Danarius wants you back so badly,” Bethany said. 

“He doesn’t want _me_ , exactly,” Fenris added. He held out his hand and turned it palm up, revealing the intricate markings up his arm. “These are not tattoos, at least not in the sense that you know them. They are etchings inked in lyrium. When they glow, as you have seen, they give off power that Danarius could manipulate, making me a sort of… portable source of renewable magic.”

The silence from the party made him uncomfortable, so he continued. 

“I would wager that he regrets his decision now, however, as it gave me the power I needed to escape.”

“That’s… horrible,” Bethany said. Fenris made note of how quickly the girl’s emotions could change. 

“So these markings,” Varric said, stroking his chin. “They’re valuable?”

Before Fenris could say anything Hawke coughed into his own hand in an attempt to cover up how he stomped on the dwarf’s toes. 

“Yes,” Fenris said, quirking a confused brow in Hawke’s direction. He wondered why the rogue seemed to have such distaste for the question. “I imagine the only reason he hunts me still is to get them back.”

“Can he do that?” Bethany asked.

“Blood mages feel they can do anything in the Tevinter Imperium. The magisters there hold all the power; over the Chantry, the Templars, and the people. As such, they can do what they wish to their property, slaves especially.”

“Well,” Varric said through his teeth, clenching them against the pain in his foot. “Glad we were able to help.”

“I know that coin can scarcely cover what I owe you, so if you have need of me you can find me here.”

“You’re going to stay here?” Bethany asked. “In this dingy old house?”

“Indeed,” he said, looking up at the mansion. “I shall stay and wait for Danarius. If he wishes to have it back, let him come and claim it.”

“It might be good to have someone who can hold a sword on the Deep Roads expedition,” Varric said.

“The Deep Roads?” Fenris asked.

“Aye. We have an expedition planned and might have use for you.”

“Well, if that be the case, you will likely find me here.”

Bethany and Varric both nodded as a farewell before turning and making their way to the Hightown steps. Hawke, however, lingered; his arms still crossed against his chest, his cold, golden eyes still scrutinizing Fenris’ face. Finally, the human exhaled a breath and turned to follow his companions into Hightown. 

Fenris exhaled a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. He did not trust these people, Hawke especially; but if Danarius ever _did_ come back to this mansion, Fenris could do worse than to have a few companions willing to fight with him. The one thing he _could_ say about Hawke was that, in a fight, he was a force to be reckoned with. 

A high-pitched whistle snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to find Hawke still in view, walking backwards away from Fenris so he could still see his face. The rogue tossed a small item toward him. Fenris held out his hands and clumsily caught it against his chest. He looked down into his palms and saw the small satchel of coin Fenris had given Varric. In fact, it was the _exact_ same pouch. He’d barely seen Hawke move, none the less take this pouch away from the dwarf. When had he done it? Forget when… why?

He looked back up to ask that very question only to find that the man had completely disappeared. 

“* _Quid ego possedi ipsa ana?_ *” he cursed to himself.

* _What have I gotten myself into?_ *


	3. The Sister

"Intolerable, glowing _prick_ ," Hawke sneered, pulling down her mask and stabbing her knife into the table. 

"Hey!" Varric protested as he removed his coat. "Take it out on your own furniture."

Hawke threw herself into a chair and looked off into the distance, leaning her chin on her knuckles. 

"Well," Bethany said, turning around to leave Varric's room again, "if it's going to be one of those nights, I'm going to start drinking."

"You do that," Hawke said quietly, not even shifting her gaze as Bethany left the room. 

"I don't see why he's got your tail-feathers all ruffled," Varric said as he sat in his usual spot. 

"I hate him."

"If you hated him," he replied, propping an elbow up on the table, "you wouldn't have given him back his money."

"He'd be a dangerous enemy," she clarified. "I never would have agreed to help him if I'd known how ardently he hates mages. Varric, he can turn Bethany into the Templars."

Varric stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And... ?"

Hawke clicked her tongue and narrowed her eyes. "I can't read him."

"Ah, so that's what this is."

"Shut up, half-man."

"The one-and-only Hawk, master of the shadows, who can read your intentions through a twitch of your brow, has been stumped." Varric let out a single, loud laugh to punctuate his sentence.

"I'm not _stumped_ ," she sneered. 

"Come on, Hawke," he said, leaning back in his chair. "We all have an off day."

"That's just it," she defended, turning to face him and putting her elbows up on the table. "I'm _not_ having an off day."

Varric quirked an eyebrow, as if the reason for her severity finally made sense. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when Bethany came back into the room.

"I've got drinks," Bethany sang, stumbling into the room with two pints linked in each hand. She set them on the table, spilling a significant amount, before passing one to Hawke and two to Varric, as was routine. 

Hawke swirled the wooden tankard around on the table and clicked her tongue again.

"Problem?" Bethany asked, noting the tension. 

"Hawke says she can't read the elf," Varric offered, taking a long pull on his mead. 

"What?" Bethany asked, turning to Hawke. "You can't?" 

"Not yet,” Hawke clarified.

"What's the problem?"

"He was trained," Hawke said, almost trailing off as her words attempted to keep up with the speed of her thoughts. "Either by himself or by someone else, but he's been trained to keep his intent out of his face. His expressions, his body language... it's almost... _too_ neutral."

Bethany smiled and leaned back in her chair. "You like him."

Hawke's eyes snapped up. Varric choked on his mead. 

"How can you even suggest that?" Hawke sneered. 

"He's a puzzle," Bethany said, tilting her head to the side with a wicked grin. "You love puzzles."

"Don't be ridiculous. He's dangerous."

“Well, that just makes him sexy.”

“Honestly, girl!”

"I like him very well indeed," Bethany said with a shrug. 

"He _threatened_ you, Bethany," Hawke sneered, standing and slamming her palms into the table. "He could give you to the Templars!" 

"He won't," she replied simply.

"How can you _possibly_ trust him?"

"Because, sister, _you_ trust him."

Hawke shut her eyes tightly, as if the statement was so ridiculous that it gave her a headache. "How in the flaming blue hell did you come to that conclusion?"

"After he insulted me, you shoved him into a wall and had your dagger primed at his throat," Bethany recalled. "Yet you let him go because he said he was sorry? Anara, I have seen you kill people for less, but you didn't. Your gut told you he could be trusted, and I trust your gut."

Varric noted how Hawke's eyebrows upturned briefly before she regained her composure. 

"My gut has been wrong before," was all she said.

"What, twice? Twice out of how many? A million? I'll take those odds any day of the week," Bethany said. 

"As a gambling man," Varric interjected, "I would also take those odds."

Hawke exhaled through her nose and collapsed back into her chair, finally taking a drink of her beer. 

“I will say this for the elf,” Hawke began. “He makes for a sufficient meat-shield. Bethany generally has us covered as far as magic is concerned, making Anders and Merrill seem little more than redundant—not to mention that I do not trust them to keep their respective demons under control. Furthermore I grow weary of being the only close combat expert on the field, decidedly having the bad guys hand me my ass every few hours."

“A meat-shield, yes," Bethany said with a goofy smile. "A meat shield I’d like to get my hands on.”

“By the Maker, Bethany,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes with a smile, “can you get your mind out of your garters?”

“We can’t all be like you, ‘Nara.”

“What, sensible? Practical? _Sane_?”

“Made of bloody _stone_ is more like it.”

“ _Moving on_ ,” Hawke groaned, rubbing her eyes. “The point is: as long as we have Bethany, the other two mages seem to be unnecessary.”

“You and your excuses," Bethany scoffed. "What about Aveline? She’s proven a perfectly suitable 'meat-shield' in the past, albeit she’s rather lacking in the glowing and sex appeal.” 

“Aveline is a guardswoman now," Hawke said with a sigh, rubbing her forehead. "She has bigger things to worry about than helping us get into the Deep Roads. Besides, I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but our means of earning coin can be a little… untoward." She rested her chin on her knuckles again, continuing to talk more to herself than the others in the room. "No, the elf is the better option. He may be a prick, but he's clever enough to know that if he turns Bethany in, we could very easily help that Magister find him.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining, sis. I’d rather have the elf along anyway. He's easy on the eyes.”

"So half a pint is all it takes for you to forget he’d likely send you to the gallows," Hawke teased. “Consider it noted.”

"It wasn't _half_ ," she defended, showing her sister that her tankard was empty, and obviously missing the point. "And I think I need another one."

"Yes, more alcohol is certainly what you need at this point," Hawke said.

Bethany stuck her tongue out before stumbling out of Varric’s private room. 

Varric laughed. “Oh, you two certainly go on.”

“It’s impossible to talk business with her when she’s thinking about her nethers rather than the task at hand. You'd think virgins would be _less_ interested than the rest of us.”

"Bethany is a virgin?" Varric asked, poorly covering his interest.

"Do not make me regret telling you that," Hawke said, leveling her eyes at him. "Bethany may do as she pleases with her body, but not with _you_."

Varric opened his mouth to protest the implied insult on his character, but he realized he'd probably do the same in Hawke's shoes. "Fair enough," he conceded, with a shrug. “But, she has a point, you know."

“About what? Needing another pint?”

“Yes, that, I suppose," Varric admitted, looking at his two recently emptied tankards. "But I’m talking about you and your… emotional ambiguity.”

“Nonsense,” she said with a grin. “I’m not made of stone.”

“Well I know that,” he said, putting a hand on his chest. “And your _sister_ knows that. You just don’t seem to want anyone _else_ to know it.”

“And whose fault is that? It was _your_ rumors that have all of Kirkwall thinking I’m a man.”

“Something you are making a great effort to disprove, no doubt.”

She waved a dismissive hand before removing the dagger from where it was still embedded in the table. “What’s the point? I don’t care to get close to anyone who doesn’t check their facts in the first place.”

“I’ll give you that one,” he said, saluting her with his empty mug. “Bethany has always been atwitter at this man or that. It occurs to me, though, that I don’t even know if you prefer men or women.”

“If women were my taste, I’d be hard pressed to find one that hasn’t been in _your_ bed yet. Maker, you’ve bedded enough for the both of us.”

“It’s the chest hair,” he sighed, feigning exasperation. “It’s a curse.”

She laughed and leaned back in her chair, flipping her dagger blade to hilt, then back again. 

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said. 

“You didn’t really ask me a question.”

“It is impossible to talk to you, you know that?” 

She chuckled and put her free hand behind her head, continuing to flip her dagger with the other. “I will say this: My definitive opinion on the matter is that as soon as you show someone your back, they will stick a knife in it. Failing that, it seems men are my preference.”

He chewed on that first sentence for a while, observing the aloofness in her bright copper eyes as she flipped her dagger in her hand. 

“That may be the most revealing thing I’ve ever heard you say about yourself.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said with a smile.

“You know, I’ve seen your back plenty of times.”

“I guess I should have said 'I don't like showing my back to people _tall enough_ to stick a knife in it.'”

“You really are an intolerable bitch.”

* * *

“I heard his talons are laced with the very fires of hell!”

“Well, I heard that his throat was cut by Antivan assassins.”

“Bollocks. I wager that if the Crows wanted him dead, he’d be just that.”

As Fenris walked the darkened streets of Lowtown, the vagrants were atwitter with rumors of the Hawk. Had they increased of late? Or was Fenris only more aware of them now that he knew the man behind the name? Regardless, he couldn’t help but wonder what was under that mask of his. Two weeks and several—seemingly frivolous— missions around the city later, Fenris still hadn’t heard Hawke’s voice, or seen his face. He couldn’t deny that he was curious but knew better than to intrude. Fenris understood what it meant to have demons, and while he still wasn’t sure what he thought of the human’s character yet, he had certainly earned Fenris’ respect. That was enough. 

The Hanged Man had that same stale smell it always had— desperation laced with vomit and shame— but Fenris had gotten used to that. What he hadn’t gotten used to was being greeted by companions. Not to mention that the salutations weren’t exactly… warm.

“ _Slave_ ,” Anders said by way of greeting. 

“ _Abomination_ ,” Fenris spat back, before joining them at the table. 

“Honestly, you two,” Merrill said. “There’s plenty of room in the world for all of us. You don’t have to like each other, but surely you can be civil, can’t you?”

“No,” they said in unison. 

“Well,” Varric said with a sigh. “I guess I can give you lot the run down now.”

“What?” Merrill said. “We’re not going to wait for Hawke and Bethany?”

Varric waved a dismissive hand. “Bethany won’t be coming around much since their mother has demanded that Hawke stop putting her in danger, and Hawke is currently out handling the situation I’m about to bring up. We traced the disappearance of the boy, Feynriel, back to a group of slavers. Hawke is currently locating them.”

“We move on them tonight, then?” Fenris asked. 

“I don’t think so, but I suppose we’ll know once Hawke gets here and tells us.”

“Oh, is Hawke comin’ in then?” Moira, the serving girl, cooed as she set a tankard of ale in front of Fenris. “Splendid. I like when he’s around. He’s handsome.”

Anders quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve seen his face?”

“Well, no,” she said, tilting her head to the side, “but you can just tell by his eyes that he’s handsome, can’t ya? A good man like that, he _has_ to be handsome.”

“And how do you know he’s a good man?” Merrill asked. “I’ve never heard him speak or anything, now that I think about it.”

“Oh, he’s a darlin’ man to be sure,” the wench crowed. “Handled a small battalion of drunkards who were giving me a hard time the other night; straightened them out but good, he did.” She sighed and lilted out of the room. “Oh aye, he’s a handsome one to be sure.” 

Fenris pretended that he didn’t notice Varric coughing to cover up his laughter.

“I’ve never heard him speak either,” Anders said, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know how we can trust him.”

“He hasn’t reported either of you apostates to the templar’s yet,” Fenris offered before taking a drink from the ale he never asked for. “Nor has he contacted Danarius for whatever reward he could get for my hide. That, in and of itself, is enough for me.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Merrill sang. “He does have kind eyes. I mean, when he’s not glarin’ and murderin’ and such.”

“I would like to know why he doesn’t speak,” Anders said. “That, more than anything else, has me suspicious.”

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” Varric said, an entertained sparkle in his eye.

“Of course we’ve heard the rumors. I can’t bring myself to believe any of them. His voice was traded to the Witch of the Wilds in return for his speed and stealth; his throat was contaminated by the taint of darkspawn and his voice was to be removed to save his life; he’s a mouthless demon from hell sent to exact revenge on man for their wicked ways; each more ridiculous than the last.”

“Don’t forget the one about having the voice of an angel; so beautiful that it dare not be spoken aloud for fear of women falling, swooning under its melodic tune,” Varric boasted. “That’s my particular favorite.”

“You know,” Anders returned. “I have half a mind to think that you were the one to start all these rumors in the first place.”

“Half a mind,” Fenris repeated, glaring at the mage over the rim of his mug. “Appropriate.”

“Shut up, Fenris. You can’t tell me that you’re not the least bit curious.”

“I am not,” he lied.

“Now ladies, be nice,” Varric soothed.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Anders asked. “That we are sworn to a man we can barely communicate with?”

“Not in the least,” Fenris returned with a shrug. “Hawke and I communicate perfectly well.”

“What?” the mages in the room asked in unison. “He’s spoken to you?” Anders continued.

“Not—No. Not with words. I, too, have never heard his voice.”

“Then what do you mean, Fenris?” Merrill asked. “Does he have powers to communicate in your mind? Ooh!” she gasped. “Is he secretly a mage?”

“Nothing like that, you daft witch,” Fenris snapped. “If you would pay attention you would see how he communicates with looks alone.”

“He, what?” Anders asked.

“You can read his eyes,” Fenris said, gesturing to his own eyes as if that clarified it.

“Hawke just… looks at you,” Varric added. “There’s just something about it that, if you’re paying attention, tells you exactly what’s trying to be said.”

“I have the meager people skills common to a slave, yet even I have been able to pick up on it.”

“You being a slave is probably what makes you so good at it,” Anders taunted. “Who better to anticipate the needs of his master than a _dog_?”

Fenris went to stand up but was stopped by Hawke’s gloved hand on his shoulder. Fenris turned to look up at him and Hawke shook his head sympathetically, making his other hand into the shape of a puppet and opening it over and over again. 

_Let him talk_ , he was saying. 

Fenris smirked and eased back into his chair.

Anders tried to hide his embarrassment by shifting his weight. 

“Hello, Hawke,” Merrill chirped.

Hawked nodded.

“Good of you to join us,” Varric said, holding his hand out expectantly. 

Hawke removed a piece of parchment that was tucked into his belt and handed it to Varric who unfolded it and read it. 

“Hmmmm.” Varric stroked his chin for a few contemplative moments before looking back up to Hawke. “You wish to move tonight, then?”

Hawke nodded.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Moira said, sauntering into the room with an ale for Hawke. “You can’t leave without a drink first, my love.”

He let a breathy laugh out through his nose and kissed the back of Moira’s free hand through his mask before taking the ale from her. 

The waitress blushed and sauntered out of the room before Hawke put the mug down in front of Varric. 

“Quite the lady’s man, aren’t you?” Varric teased.

Hawke smacked him upside the head.

* * *

_Damn this intolerable silence_ , Anara cursed to herself. It was getting more and more difficult to hold her tongue around her new companions. While Fenris seemed to understand her well enough, only needing a look and encouraging nudge with her elbow to know she wanted him to use his ‘reach-through-the-chest-and-squeeze’ trick on the head slaver. Anders, on the other hand, was not quite so perceptive. After permitting Feynriel to wander off to the Dalish instead of being incarcerated in the Circle, Anders had regarded her as if she had done it simply out of consideration for him. With her needing them to think of her as a man, she wasn’t even able to tell him that he was being ridiculous. Had Anders completely forgotten that Bethany was a mage? Their companions may not have known about their father, but surly having a powerful mage as a sister was more than reason to be easy on the mages they encountered. Anders, however, gave her those wide, kind eyes and thanked her very sincerely for letting Feynriel go free. Given her silence, all she’d been able to do was nod in response, thereby propagating his illusion. 

She had a feeling this silence was going to bite her in the ass one day. Even though Fenris seemed to be able to understand her perfectly well, she knew she was walking on metaphorically thin ice with him.

Hawke hated slavers—slavery in generally actually—and always took it upon herself to grant swift justice on them. After Fenris helped make the head slaver tell them where Feynriel was, she had refused to let them all go and they systematically felled them all. It was in those moments that Fenris seemed to be growing fond of her. Then, all it took was releasing Feynriel and he turned a one-eighty on her. He scowled and cursed under his breath, and his words to her echoed through her mind like a ghost. 

“ _When that boy inevitably turns on you_ ,” he had said softly into her ear, “ _the blood of his victims will be on your hands, Hawke_.” 

She shook the thought out of her head and stumbled through the door to her home. She had made the right call, she knew she did. 

Instead of driving herself crazy with it, she decided to turn her attention to her mother, who was in the exact same spot she had been this morning.

“Mother, honestly,” Hawke said with a sigh as she began pulling off her armor. “You haven’t left this… this… _shack_ since we arrived a year ago. If you don’t get some fresh air you’re going to go stir crazy.”

“I’ve been trying to get her to let me take her out for months,” Bethany said with a sigh.

“What’s the point?” Leandra lamented. “Until I can get an audience with the Viscount and try to reclaim our estate, I won’t be able to show my face in Hightown.”

“And what’s wrong with Lowtown?” Bethany asked. “We’ve met some lovely people here.”

“In this dank hell-hole of a place? I would sooner die than be seen associating myself with the likes of Lowtown.”

Both girls rolled their eyes and Hawke limped back into the bedroom where Bethany had prepared a hot bath for her. Lord, her foot ached.

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite?” Anara said as she made her way to the basin.

“Well, it’s the bloody least I could do,” Bethany scoffed, “since you won’t take me out with you anymore.”

“Mother is right,” Hawke returned. “You should stay here where it is safe for now. I won’t go losing you to my negligence the way I did Carver.”

“'Nara,” Bethany said with a sigh, going to help her sister undress. “Carver wasn’t your fault. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”

Anara sighed and started to unwrap her feet. “Father made me promise,” she said softly. “I promised him on his deathbed that I would protect you all and I failed. I won’t lose you, too.”

Bethany knew better than to hound her on the subject, so she changed it. 

“Here,” she said. “Let me see that foot.”

Anara winced as she lifted her leg into Bethany’s hands. Blue light filled the mages palms as she rolled the foot back and forth, making Anara sigh with relief. 

“Lord, that feels good,” she said. 

“Well, if you insist on leaving me behind the least you could do is tell me all about it.”

“Is it safe to assume that you don’t actually care about Feynriel and just want to know if the mage’s shirt came off?” 

“Or the elf’s. I would settle for the elf’s shirt coming off. You think those markings go all the way down?”

“Maker deliver me from a young woman's libido,” Anara sighed as she eased herself into the warm water. “You’re hopeless, Beth. No one’s shirt came off, I assure you.”

“And the boy? Did you bring him home?”

“No. He wished to scamper off to the Dalish where he could learn to harness his magic without being imprisoned in the Circle.”

“I’m sure Anders loved you for that.”

“I swear, it’s like he’s forgotten my sister is a mage. I do hope his thinking I am a man does not lead to some sort of adverse feelings for me.”

“He may prefer men, but he’s said he’s loved women in the past,” Bethany added.

“I can assure you," Anara said, pointing to her face. "This is not the face of a woman who cares."

“Well, why don’t you just tell them you're a woman? They’ve kept my secret. Maybe they’ll keep yours as well?”

“I’m sure Merrill will have no problem with my being a woman, but the other two, I don’t know. I don’t exactly know what their opinions of women are at this point. Anders opens doors for you, and Fenris calls Merrill 'witch' and 'daft woman', even condescends you and your magic when given the chance. I am beginning to think they would stop respecting me if they knew.”

“What's the worst that could happen? They leave?”

“We _can’t_ lose Fenris,” Hawke said with a long exhale, leaning her head back. “He’s the only other blade we have, and we need him for the expedition. He can’t know. Not yet. Not until I have a better lock on his character, or the expedition is complete.”

“I get the feeling you just like having him around.”

“Don’t start with me, Beth.”

“At least admit that they are handsome.”

“Alright! I admit that they are handsome, both of them! Hell, I even think Varric is handsome. That doesn’t mean anything to me. They are more like children than men, bickering back and forth about mages at every turn. Anders will not let the mage's plight rest, like he needs Fenris to agree with him, and Fenris never just ignores him. Expecting Fenris to support the mages is as unreasonable as getting Anders to turn his back on them. I just wish they would both shut up about it.”

“I still think you have a soft spot for the slave.”

Anara exhaled through her nose and sank further into the water.

“He has a lot of hate in him,” she conceded. “I know what it’s like to be used.”

“Nara, that was a long time ago.”

“I know, but I get it; the anger, the resentment. I’ve been there.”

“And you want to help him?”

“I want to help all of them. Fenris is the only one I fear won’t let me.”

“You always did have a thing for those pointy ears.”

“Oh, stuff it, would you?”


	4. The Change

Fenris was lying face down on his bed with one arm hanging onto the floor when the morning sun shone through his window. He felt the warmth against his back and shoulder but, as he opened his eyes, he realized he was facing the wall. As awareness came to him a familiar uneasiness settled in his stomach. He could feel something was wrong, but he was either too tired or too incoherent to identify it. Out of instinct he slowly slid his hand onto the hilt of his sword that he kept under the bed. He remained still for a long moment, eyes closed, straining his ears against the bustle of the waking city.

Then he heard a soft, breathy exhale beside him. 

He whirled around, bringing his sword up in an arc and turning to face the intruder. Hawke barely managed to jump back, landing in the large velvet chair across from the bed. He perched on the seat of the chair in his usual avian manner; balanced on the balls of his feet, knees out to the side for balance, and a hand on each knee.

“You,” Fenris sneered, leveling the long blade so it pointed directly into Hawke’s face.

The rogue gave him a rather chipper-looking two-finger salute before idly tracing his gloved fingers down the edge of the blade and pushing it to the side.

“What do you want?” Fenris demanded, allowing the blade to be moved aside, but not releasing it.

Hawke put his hand up to his ear, miming that he was listening for something.

“ _EEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLFFF_!” Varric bellowed from the front door. 

Fenris scoffed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, releasing his grip on the sword.

“I suppose you are my reveille this morning?” Fenris gave Hawke what he hoped was a stern glare.

Hawke nodded, reaching to pluck Fenris’ armor off the floor and tossing it to him as he strode toward the door. As quietly as he had come in, the rogue left, and Fenris found himself incredibly annoyed far too early in the morning.

“Insufferable human,” he cursed to himself as he pulled on his armor. 

He wondered absently if Hawke had crept into his room with the simple intention of waking him, or to prove that if the human had wanted to kill him, he very well could have. 

He found neither thought to be very comforting, but if Hawke had wanted him dead, he would have been so weeks ago. Fenris resigned himself to his newly companioned fate, and made his way down the stairs.

The majority of the people he was becoming familiar with were very easy to read. Varric was a jovial, sarcastic, greed-driven dwarf who used his callousness to cover up his kindnesses. Bethany, Hawke's apostate sister, seemed a trustworthy sort, if not extremely naïve of the world; Merrill, the Dalish apostate, was the most naïve of them all, her kindnesses and desperation to be accepted far outweighing the dangers of blood magic in her mind; and Anders — Fenris’ least favorite — was the apostate abomination possessed by a demon of ‘Justice’ which caused him to frequently lose control, yet — in the most hypocritical of gestures — he often scolded Merrill for her blood magic. Of the lot of them Anders was decidedly the weakest, maybe not in terms of power, but certainly in terms of will. 

Hawke was another story. 

Fenris just couldn’t seem to get a read on him. Varric had worked very hard to make it appear to the public that he was the leader of their group while Hawke remained a deadly hired knife (a tactic that proved rather useful in many situations), but it took no time at all for Fenris to realize that Hawke was the silent leader while Varric was simply the mouthpiece. Whenever a decision had to be made, and the correct choice was not obvious, Hawke’s opinion was always the final one. They would all turn to him and wait for the nod or shake of his head that told them what their next step was. 

Thusly Fenris was never really able to catch more than a few glimpses into the rogue’s character; an angry scoff; the softening of his eyes when they were speaking to children; the way he would sit, perched on the balls of his feet with his back to the wall and his eyes always on the exits. None of the small pieces were enough to make a picture, and Fenris grew more exasperated with the rogue by the day. 

He was obviously far too soft on the mages — the half-elf boy had been an apt example of that — no doubt because of some misplaced sympathy for his sister. Whenever the choice was to help the ‘poor mage’ or send them to the Circle of Magi, Hawke’s choice was always leniency. Yet when smugglers, pirates, or slavers were their opponents he dispatched them without mercy. He was like a force of righteousness, looking upon slavers with the same outraged disgust Fenris had for them.

The man was proving to be a rather frustrating contradiction. 

Whether or not Fenris _liked_ Hawke was yet to be determined, but the man was very obviously deserving of respect, especially on the battlefield. From the very first time they fought together through Danarius’ mansion, Fenris boggled at the speed and precision with which the rogue moved. As soon as Fenris focused on a target, Hawke would appear behind it, seemingly out of thin air. He had never seen anything move so fast or so efficiently, and the more they fought together, the more they fell into a rhythm. The rogue would be a valuable ally when he inevitably had to face Danarius again, if he could maintain the relation until that time. 

"Good morning, Starlight," Varric sang.

Fenris held a hand up to shield his eyes from the rude morning sun as he came out of the mansion's back door. 

"Rather early for the likes of you, isn't it?" Fenris asked. 

"Unfortunately," Aveline said, crossing her arms. "I happen to work at the hours of a normal person."

"Aveline, you amaze me," Varric said, beginning to walk away. "How you can do this every day, I will never know."

"No," Aveline said with a smile. "I wager you never will."

* * *

Maker, Hawke was tired. 

The outing with Aveline to take out an ambush had ended up taking all day. Her feet ached, and she was incredibly frustrated from having to stay silent the whole day. She would have rather brought Bethany along rather than Fenris, since then she would have been able to speak, but Aveline had told her that she didn't know who might have planned the ambush and Bethany's secret might not be safe. On top of that, her mother was resolute in her decision not to let Bethany within a kilometer of Hawke's 'undertakings'. 

Hawke and Fenris followed Aveline and Varric back into the city, relieved that Aveline had decided to deliver her report to her superior in the morning, rather than immediately. Anara didn't drink alcohol very often, but she certainly could use a stiff drink now. 

Fenris, who had been in a sour mood the whole day, declined Varric's invitation to the Hanged Man and headed back to his home. 

"Thank the Maker for small miracles," Hawke said through her mask as she threw herself into a chair. 

"That eager to get rid of the elf?" Varric asked, setting his pints on the table. 

"He's not exactly what I'd call 'good company'," Hawke groaned. 

"I'm sure it doesn't help that you have to stay silent around him," Aveline offered, giving one of the pints in her hands to Hawke. "I really do think this whole masquerade of yours is silly."

"Silly though it may be," Hawke said, silently thanking Aveline for the pint with a nod of her head, "I will admit that it is rather effective."

"I've seen as much," Aveline said with a laugh. "Though it is rather—"

Aveline was interrupted when Moira entered the room. Hawke instinctively put her hand up to make sure her mask was secure before settling in her chair.

"Moira, my beautiful flower," Varric crooned. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your countenance in my room?"

Moira blushed, and failed miserably at hiding it. 

"You're an absolute rake, Tethras," she said, hands on her hips. 

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment," Aveline added. 

"Maybe not to _you_ ," Varric shot back. 

"Letter for ya," Moira said, waving the sealed parchment in the air and handing it to him. "Lad who delivered it said that he was paid a gold piece to run it here."

"Is that so?" Varric asked. Hawke noted how his brows began knitting together. Someone paying as much as a sovereign to get a report to him quickly spoke volumes of the urgency of the letter's contents. "Thank you, Moira," he said, waving her out of the room. "That'll be all."

The serving girl knew better than to linger when Varric had something urgent to read, so she turned around with a swing of her hips and exited his private quarters. Varric waited until the door shut again before tearing the seal and opening it. 

"Well?" Hawke said, knowing full well he couldn't have read it that quickly. 

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

Hawke snatched the parchment out of his hand. He never _handed_ her the report, he liked to hear himself talk far too much for that. Varric admitting that it would be faster for Hawke to read it herself told her this was important. 

_Varric,_

_Per your request I've kept my ears to ground at the docks, listening for anything on this list you've given me. A ship bearing the symbol of the Tevinter Imperium pulled into port this morning. A group of about twenty people unloaded, armed to the teeth. A few of them were mages, I'm sure of it, but mostly they looked like soldiers. You put Tevinter on my list here, so I followed them a fair bit. When I left them they were in Hightown talking about a trap and asking folks about an elf with white tattoos. That was all I got before they were onto me and I ran._

_Hope it helps,  
-TS_

Hawke was out the door before the parchment reached the ground. 

"Hawke, wait!" Aveline called out, jumping to her feet. 

"We'll never keep up with her," Varric growled, going to strap Bianca onto his back again. "But we can meet her there."

* * *

Hawke sat on the Chantry roof, assessing the situation on the ground below her. Corpses were scattered across the entire courtyard, and the remaining hunters were in a tight circle. Hawke couldn't see Fenris, but she figured he was at the center of the circle, being overwhelmed. There were still two mages, and about eight hunters. Hawke made a mental note that Fenris had been able to fell at least ten of them alone. 

The hunters moved into a line, revealing Fenris with his hands and feet chained together, lying on his side in a pool of blood. One of the hunters picked him up and threw him into a rather crude wooden wagon, before shouting orders to the other men. 

Hawke moved silently along the rooftop to get ahead of them. She stood on the archway leading into the Keep Square and waited for them to round the corner. If Fenris was mortally wounded, she knew she didn't have much time, but she couldn't just go rushing in and get herself killed. Once the entire group was coming down the alley, she quickly released two daggers, sending them right to the mages. One of the daggers embedded into a mage's forehead, the other dagger went right into the other mage's ribcage. The mage staggered back, clutching the dagger helplessly as he collapsed onto the ground. Just when the hunters saw that their mages had fallen, Hawke stood her full height on the archway.

If Varric had taught her anything, it was that theatrics certainly counted for a great deal.

She stood atop the great stone archway, like a wraith in the moonlight. 

"The fuck is that?" one of the hunters asked, pointing up at her. 

"What in the hell?" another asked. 

"Hawke?" Fenris called out, almost sneered. "No. Don't."

She dropped onto the ground in front of the caravan, unsheathing her daggers and spinning them in her palms. 

"The Hawk?" one of the hunters exclaimed. "I've heard the rumors."

"I've heard he's like a demon!"

"He's just a hired blade," their leader scoffed. "He'll bleed like any other man."

Hawke looked through them to Fenris. His wrists and ankles were chained behind him, and he was looking up at her from his side. He shook his head at her, silently telling her not to involve herself. Blood dripped from his chin, and his usually cold, angry eyes were filled with something else — something sad.

He'd thought he was finished, that all his years of running had been for nothing. He'd thought he'd been doomed to return to Danarius.

Not bloody likely. 

Hawke took a smoke bomb off of her belt and threw it into the ground at the hunter's feet. The smoke exploded around them and she heard the tell-tale sounds of confusion as they moved through the fog, groping the air with their swords and their hands to try and find her. She snuck up behind the leader, quickly slitting his throat in hopes that the group would flounder without direction. She then moved around the men, using her daggers to make harmless but painful gashes in their calves, sides, and arms. Each man that received a cut turned to their neighbor and threw a wild punch or swing of their sword. 

As they knocked each other senseless or — best case scenario — sliced each other up, Hawke made her way through the mob to the wagon and began working on the shackles binding Fenris. Upon sensing her presence he began to struggle, but she leaned next to his head and shushed him to let him know it was her. He stilled instantly, knowing better than to say something and give them away. Once his shackles were gone she helped him off the wagon and shoved him out of the smoke; the hunters wouldn't be able to use his welfare against her if they couldn't reach him. 

As the smoke started to clear she began systematically killing the hunters that were still standing, dodging strikes and slicing through their jugulars with relative ease. 

A sword burst through the chest of the last hunter, and as he fell Hawke saw Aveline standing triumphant.

Hawke went to Fenris, leaving the hunters that were alive, but unable to stand, to writhe and cry on the ground. 

"Very foolish," Fenris said, followed swiftly by a wet cough. She could hear the blood in his lungs, and saw the hole through his chest; a spear, by Hawke's guess. The mages she'd killed had to have been using magic to keep him alive, but also weak so he could not free himself. 

"He's wounded," Aveline said.

Hawke gave her a look that she hoped translated to ' _no shit_ ', before turning to help Fenris up. 

"I'll go get Bethany," Aveline said, already running away.

As Hawke slowly helped Fenris back toward his home, she sent a silent prayer to the Maker that Varric had been smart enough to go straight for Bethany, rather than chasing Aveline with his stubby legs. 

Fenris and Hawke hobbled slowly up the courtyard steps, then into the mansion. He had one arm draped over her shoulders, and his other hand was firmly pressed into his chest, as if it would stop the bleeding. 

Hawke was sweating by the time she got them to the bedroom and eased him onto the bed. She looked around the room and found an old but relatively clean blanket heaped in the corner, so she grabbed it and used her dagger to cut a swath out of it. She pressed the material into Fenris' wound as he eased onto his back, teeth clenched. 

"Go," he said through his teeth. "You should not be found in the company of a dead man."

She glared at him but said nothing, only continued to put pressure on the wound. 

"Stubborn human," he sneered. His chest heaved as he coughed blood into his hand and she could already tell his strength was almost spent. 

She held the cloth firmly on his wound, moving to sit beside him on the bed. She needed to keep him awake until Bethany got here, so whenever he looked like he was drifting into unconsciousness she slapped him. 

"You are a terrible nurse," he said through his coughing.

She shrugged, but hoped that he could see she was smiling. 

Hawke looked down to see that Fenris had put on of his hands on her wrist. His body was shivering and twitching as it tried to fight off the shock. 

"You do not give up easily," he said with an exausted smile. She wondered if this was his way of thanking her for not giving up on him. She hoped not. If he was thanking her that meant he was giving up. 

_Damn it, Aveline_ , she cursed silently. _Where the hell are you_?

* * *

Fenris surged with pain when his eyes shot open. 

“That’s it,” Bethany cooed. “Easy now, it’s alright.”

“Bethany?” he asked with an incredulous brow cocked.

“Everyone’s favorite apostate,” she sang.

“I didn't think you'd make it.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” she scoffed, the blue light fading away from her hands. 

“I… apologize,” he said, grunting against the pain in him. “I didn’t think… I couldn’t…”

“Hush, now,” she said, her features softening considerably as she reached for something in her bag. “You’re going to be alright now.”

“Thank you,” he said, leaning back down onto his bed. “I owe you my life.”

“Not me,” she said with a laugh. “I didn’t have much of a choice now, did I?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Varric burst through my door at this ungodly hour and dragged me through Hightown in my pajamas.”

“I see. Where are they?”

“Aveline went home, and I think Varric is going through the belongings of the hunters. I sent Hawke with him. The frantic pacing back and forth was making it hard to work.”

“I still don’t understand,” he groaned, trying to sit up. “Why would Hawke…”

“Why does Hawke do anything?" Bethany said with a laugh. "Do not worry about it for now — you need to sleep. Hawke will be here should you need anything."

“That is unnecessary. I will be fine.”

“Trust me," she said as she made her way to the door. "You don't really have any say in the matter.”

"Thank you, Bethany," he said, determined not to repeat his mistake of seeming ungrateful for her talents. "You have no reason to help me, and I appreciate that you have."

Bethany turned around in the doorway, looking back at him with a kind, almost sad expression. "Hawke trusts you, Fenris. That is all I need to know about you."

Fenris watched her go until she disappeared down the stairs, then let his head fall back onto his pillow. 

_Hawke trusts you._

He knew he heard her right, he was just having a hard time wrapping his head around it. Hawke barely knew him, and he certainly knew close to nothing about Hawke. The fact that Hawke regarded him higher than enemies was miraculous in and of itself; he'd never think that they were _friends_. Why would Hawke trust him, of all people? Fenris fought him more than anyone, mostly when it came to the mages, so he couldn't understand why Hawke would _trust_ him. It was probably the same foolishness that made the rogue have faith in the mages.

As the darkness again started to descend on his mind, he fell asleep with the questions still buzzing through his mind.

* * *

Fenris blinked his eyes awake, a dull ache bringing him out of sleep slowly. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but he was groggy enough to know it was several hours. He could feel the warmth of the fire on his skin and he sighed in relief. 

Wait, fire?

He sat up to see Hawke sitting with his back to the fireplace and using its light to read a book. When he heard Fenris stir, he looked up at him and closed his book. 

“Hawke,” Fenris said, more out of surprise than in greeting. The human stood and came to his side, the book still in his hand. “What… what are you doing here?”

Hawke, of course, remained silent. He tilted his head to the side and quirked an entertained brow.

_Really?_

Fenris scoffed and sat up. “I do not need a nanny,” he said before wincing against the pain. 

Hawke exhaled through his nose and shook his head. 

“You do not need to watch over me, human. I am perfectly capable of—”

Hawke poked Fenris in the wound, making him cry out. 

“ _Stultus styrash_ ,” he hissed. Hawke’s smiling eyes were infuriating, but Fenris knew he was in no position to protest. Still, letting the human see him in this weakened state was not something he had intended to do. He did not trust Hawke, and Fenris was not in the habit of showing strangers vulnerability, however temporary. 

Hawke dipped his gloved hands into a basin he had placed next to the bed. He pulled a cloth from the water and rung it out before handing it to Fenris. 

“What am I to do with this?” Fenris asked, taking the cold cloth in his hands.

Hawke mimed pressing something to his forehead.

Fenris looked down at the cool cloth in his hands and laid it across his brow. The cool water relieved some of the aching and intolerable heat in his head. He moved to lie back down and Hawke’s hands immediately moved to Fenris' shoulders to help ease him back. 

Fenris had a hundred questions that he knew very well he wouldn’t get answers to, so instead, he simply said, "I am grateful."

Hawke gave him a nod before standing back up and going to the large velvet chair next to the bed. He crossed his legs like a monk before he re-opened the book in his lap.

“Are you going to stay here all night?”

Hawke nodded without looking up.

“It is unnecessary.”

He shrugged. 

Fenris scoffed and rolled his head to look up at the ceiling. This human was infuriating with his eternal vow of silence. 

“I find you are very…” he gestured aimlessly with his hand, searching for a word. “… Annoying.”

Hawke gave him that same breathy laugh, but continued to read.

Fenris knew he wasn’t really angry at Hawke. He was infuriated by his own insufficiencies and his inability to escape his past. His weaknesses, much more than the rogue’s silence, were intolerable.

“I am sorry,” he said without looking at Hawke. “For involving you in my troubles.” He sighed and put his palm on his forehead to try and ease the pain away. “I have tried many times to leave my past behind me, but it never seems to stay there. Three years is a long time to chase a ghost, you’d think Danarius would give up but…” he sighed and looked at the markings on his raised arm. “He has a way of finding me. Perhaps it is the markings,” he continued, more to himself than to Hawke. “Bah, it doesn’t matter. Whatever the means, he always finds me. It is only a matter of time before he comes for me himself.” 

Finally he turned to look at Hawke, who had his head tilted to the side as he listened. “I do not expect your aid when that time comes, but I would not turn it aside. It has become obvious that I won’t be able to do it alone.”

Hawke’s eyes darted between both of Fenris' eyes; weighing his words in that scrutinizing way he always did. After a long moment, he smiled behind his mask and nodded. 

Fenris smiled a little. Relief was an odd sensation for him, one he rarely felt. Perhaps his freedom was not too much to hope for. Maybe, just maybe, if he stayed with Hawke and his companions he would have his chance.

These were the thoughts that eventually lulled Fenris back into blissful sleep.


	5. The Challenge

Fenris awoke much more gently the next morning. The stiffness of his bones told him he had been asleep for at least another six hours. As he groggily blinked his eyes awake, he stretched his arms over his head, causing pain to suddenly shoot through the wound in his chest. He had slept for so long he'd almost forgotten about it. Fenris sat up on his elbows and turned to squint into the sunlight pouring through his window. A familiar silhouette sat against the light of the rising sun. 

“So, you still have not gone,” Fenris growled. 

Hawke was sitting on the window sill looking out on the city, one arm propped up on his knee, his other leg and arm hanging idly off the sill. Upon hearing Fenris speak the rogue turned and started making his way toward the bed.

“Good morning,” Fenris rumbled, turning to hang his legs off the bed and keeping one hand on his sore wound. 

Hawke nodded and tossed him a small package in a thin, crackling paper. Fenris caught it and immediately felt the warmth coming through the material. 

“What’s this?” he asked as he pulled the layers away to reveal a large meat pie, big enough to be held with both hands. He looked up to Hawke, confused. “Is this for me?”

Hawke cocked out a hip and gestured to the empty room. 

_Do you see anyone else here?_

“I, urm… Thank you,” he stammered. The smell was intoxicating. How long had it been since he last had a decent meal? He could hardly recall. 

Hawke approached and pulled out a small, lavender-colored vial and a roll of spare bandages from his pack. He set them on the table and made a show of pointing at them, then at Fenris' wounded chest. 

“You would make a terrific mime,” Fenris said with a smirk. 

Hawke gave him a dramatic bow before turning to leave the room.

Fenris wanted to say something, but what could he say that was not already said? He was grateful, confused, and eerily suspicious of Hawke. Why was the human taking such great pains to care for him? The pie in Fenris' hands was Hightown food, not exactly cheap. Fenris had no delusions about Hawke's situation; he'd seen the hovel they lived in. Between saving for the expedition and feeding his family, Hawke rarely spent money on anything other than the bare essentials. Fenris never saw the man eat, drink, and even went so far as to not buy poisons, instead buying the herbs and ingredients for much cheaper, and painstakingly mixing them on his own. 

Why, then, would a man as frugal as Hawke waste money to ensure Fenris was well fed? It couldn't be as simple as good intentions, could it? They had fought together many times, to be sure, but even with that Hawke barely _knew_ Fenris. 

_Hawke trusts you, Fenris,_ Bethany had said. _That is all I need to know about you._

Fenris shook the thoughts out of his head. They were doing nothing but worsening his headache. Instead, he ate. Ravenously.

* * *

“Not now, Beth,” Anara said as she haphazardly discarded her mask and gloves. “I’ve been up all night. I could do with some quiet.”

“Oh, come on! You mean to tell me you were there all night and nothing happened?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. He was wounded. He almost _died_. Remember when I used to stay up with you and Carver when you were colicky?”

“No, that was more than a decade ago!”

“Well, it was like that.”

“Oh, it was nothing like that. We were children.”

“Well, it was just as romantic. Your obsession with this is unnerving. I don’t want him, Beth. He’s an intolerable prick, has a burning hatred for mages... and there was another one. What was it? Oh, right, _he thinks I’m a man_!”

“You can’t possibly hate a man you stayed up all night for.”

“I didn’t say I hate him, I don’t even dislike him. Prejudices aside, I think he’s a good man, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to jump into bed with him. If Anders would have been wounded I would have stayed up with _that_ whiny nuisance as well. They’re our people, Beth. They are helping me protect you, and for that I am grateful. There is nothing more to it.”

“You can’t tell me that you could look at his chest, all muscular and streaked with that white lightning, and the thought didn’t even cross your mind.”

“If you want him so badly, _you_ go over there and tell him so. I’m going to sleep.”

“You’re just no fun anymore.”

“Be sure to put that in my epitaph. Anara Hawke: Loving sister, sneak-thief, cross-dresser, and ceased to be fun anymore.”

* * *

Fenris loathed being infirmed; mortally wounded or no, he couldn't stand lounging about all day. When he was owned by Danarius, no matter how ill or wounded Fenris had been, duties were still required of him. It seemed unnatural for him to have so much... _time._

He tried to busy himself around the mansion through the day, but found he didn't have the strength or energy for any of it. Instead he slept as much as possible, hoping to rid himself of the intolerable boredom. When he'd finally managed to drift into unconsciousness, it was late in the evening. An entire day wasted in his eyes. 

He was rudely awoken the next day by pounding, but whether it was in his head or at his door he was uncertain. 

Groggily, Fenris rubbed his eyes and sat up. He realized immediately that it was already late afternoon, and he was well on his way to wasting another entire day. He had obviously slept far too long, as there was a fantastic drunkenness about him. He'd not imbibed any alcohol for days, but his limbs were shaky and weak, and there was a sort of fog over his mind. 

_Blasted wound_ , he thought, unconsciously putting a hand over his chest. _I'm not sure if I feel better or worse._

Again, the pounding echoed through the halls and he realized that it was, indeed, coming from the side door. Fenris swung his legs over the side of his bed and made his way with heavy feet. He stumbled down the stairs and to the door, making an effort to look through the peep hole, but saw no one. 

When he opened the door, Varric was standing directly in front of it.

“You looked through the peep hole, didn’t you?” Varric sneered.

“I almost didn’t open the door at all, since I certainly thought no one was there.”

“Damned things discriminate against dwarves, I’m telling you.”

Fenris leaned against the door frame and watched as Varric noted the bandages wrapped around his torso and his hair matted from sweat and sleep.

"You look like hell," Varric offered.

"Well, at least I look better than I feel," Fenris countered. After standing in awkward silence for a few moments, he added, “Did you need something?" 

“Come now, Firefly, I only came to see if you were alright.”

"Out of the kindness of your heart, I'm sure."

"Of course," Varric said, waving a hand and stepping past Fenris into the mansion. “I didn't actually see you after what happened, so I wanted to make sure you were recovering.”

“Bethany put you up to this, didn't she?” Fenris asked as he shut the door. 

“I’m offended, serah. Can’t I just come to check on a friend?”

Fenris raised an unbelieving eyebrow before asking, “Hawke, then?” 

“Daisy, actually,” Varric said with a defeated exhale. “She wanted to come see you herself, but knows how much you despise her. So she sends me in her stead.”

“I do not hate the Dale,” Fenris said, leaning against the door. “I merely think she is a danger to herself and everyone around her.”

“Oh, well, that clears it up then.”

“She is too sensitive. I talk to her no differently than I talk to anyone else.”

“You’re a little harsh on Blondie,” Varric noted.

“Him, I _do_ hate.”

“I’d gathered as much," Varric said with a laugh, before taking in his surroundings. It was still the same dingy, dank mansion it had been when they first met. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Upkeep seems rather frivolous considering the circumstances.”

“Understandable, I suppose.” Varric dusted off a bench before sitting on it and turning his attention back to Fenris. “So, if I’m going to get the details right, I need the whole story.”

“Whole story?” Fenris asked, shifting his weight to lean more comfortably on the door.

“The slavers, of course," Varric chimed. "How many were there? How did they manage to wound you? How many had you taken down before you were overwhelmed?”

“Hasn’t Hawke told you?”

“Bah, Hawke won’t give me any details. Something about it being none of my business. The nerve!” Varric punctuated his sentence with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“What if it _isn’t_ your business?”

“How can it be none of my business when it was I that saved you?”

Fenris squinted his eyes as he tried to process that. “I may have been grievously wounded, but I had the wherewithal to know that you weren’t there.”

“Of course I wasn’t there," Varric said, gesturing to his legs that were swinging back and forth above the ground. "Do these legs look like they can keep up with the likes of Hawke?”

“Then how, pray tell, did you save me?”

“Once we got back to the Hanged Man that night, it was my network that alerted Hawke to the situation.”

Fenris exhaled an understanding breath. He knew well of Varric's 'network'. “I had been wondering how he knew to come for me.”

“I had a report from Moira about some men looking for an elf with white markings. I hadn’t even had the chance to get a pint to my lips before Hawke bolted from the place like it was on fire. You’ve seen how fast Hawke can be, Aveline and I didn’t even have a chance to keep up. On top of that, I sent Aveline to back up Hawke and went straight to get Bethany, just in case the worst had happened. I will flatter myself in saying that the only reason she got here in time to save you was because I am a genius.”

“Well, then I guess I owe you thanks.”

“Keep your thanks. I’ll settle for the story," Varric said. "I’m pretty sure Hawke’s new fan girls weren’t even remotely paying attention to detail.”

“Hawke’s what?”

“Oh, that’s right you haven’t been around,” Varric offered with a snap of his fingers. “Apparently two young nobles saw the whole thing from their bedroom window. They were stalking me all day yesterday to try and get a glimpse of ‘the Hawk.’ I’ll bet they’re sitting in the Hanged Man now.”

“Hardly a safe place for young women to spend their time.”

“You don’t think we’ve told them that? They are absolutely determined to meet Hawke, or get robbed in the process.”

“I’m sure he is thrilled,” Fenris drawled.

“Been using the window to come in and out, poor sod. Anyway, back to the story. How many were there?”

Fenris shrugged, “Twenty-two. Maybe twenty-three.”

Varric regarded the elf with a rather blank expression. “You’re not very good with specifics are you?”

“I was a little distracted,” Fenris defended. “I know for a fact there were three mages, one of whom I killed.”

“Is it true that Hawke descended upon them from the rafters, like a great and powerful omen of doom?”

Fenris quirked a confused eyebrow. “I, uh… well, we were outside, so there were no rafters.”

“I knew those flibbertigibbets didn’t know what in the hell they were talking about.”

* * *

Fenris was determined not to waste another day on bed rest. After he had told Varric what he remembered of Hawke’s heroic rescue, he’d spent the rest of the day and night lounging in his bed. When he wasn't sleeping, he was running over the events of the fight in his mind, silently kicking himself for letting himself get cornered, and cursing the debt he felt he now owed Hawke.

Fenris needed to get out of here and get back into the action. 

He forced himself to stay in bed until the late afternoon, then had a wash and made his way down to the Hanged Man. Varric and Merrill were chatting in the private room when Fenris entered, and they both looked surprised to see him. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Varric asked. 

"How long does one usually stay on bed rest for?" Fenris countered. 

"There's no real _'de rigueur'_ on getting a spear through the chest, but I'd imagine it would be a couple weeks, at the least," Varric said. 

"A couple weeks? Hardly," Fenris said, waving a hand and sitting down. "I barely had the self-control to do three days."

"A real busy-body, aren't you?"

"I am not an idle man," Fenris confirmed.

"Well," Merrill said, folding her hands over each other, "I'm glad you're feeling better, Fenris."

"Thank you," he said with a polite nod, keeping in mind what Varric had said about the girl thinking he hated her. "I appreciated the, erm... care package," he said, motioning his head toward Varric. 

Merrill giggled, and Fenris smiled. 

"So," Varric said, leaning back in his chair. "To what do we owe the pleasure, elf?"

"You told me about a mission yesterday, something on the Wounded Coast. I came to offer my assistance."

"You're hardly in any condition to be swinging a halberd around," Varric offered. 

"I have done more difficult tasks in worse conditions, I assure you."

"Anders did say the clinic was terribly busy," Merrill offered, aiming that innocent smile of hers at Varric.

"Hey," Varric defended, putting his hands up in surrender. "I have no problem with you joining us, Supernova. It's Hawke you'll have to answer to."

"I hardly think Hawke will break his silence to scold me for being out and about," Fenris said.

"You'd be surprised," Varric grumbled under his breath, forgetting Fenris could hear him perfectly. 

"What is he going to do? Tie me—"

Fenris was interrupted by Hawke, hanging upside-down and rapping on the window.

"If you're smart you won’t finish that thought,” Varric said, going to the window. He swung the window open and leaned his elbows on the sill to address Hawke. "You're safe. Your groupies left about two hours ago."

Hawke sighed audibly before sweeping into the room and landing on the wooden floor without another sound. He dusted off his pants and made his way to Fenris, crossing his arms rather paternally, obviously displeased with the elf's presence in the pub. 

"Well, if it isn't Mother Hen," Fenris said with a smile. 

"He's insisted on coming with us," Varric said, making his way back to his chair. 

Hawke's eyes snapped to Varric like he couldn't believe what he'd said. 

"He was going stir-crazy," Varric clarified. 

"I'm perfectly well," Fenris lied. 

Hawke slowly moved his head to level his gaze on Fenris, his steely, golden eyes narrowing just slightly. Fenris physically felt the weight of the gaze on him, and shifted uncomfortably under the new tension in his shoulders and uneasiness in his stomach. It was the only time Hawke managed to make him squirm, and Fenris knew in that moment that the rogue had seen through him. 

Hawke turned and gripped the side of the table, pulled it until it was flush against the wall, and then went to move the empty chairs. 

"Really," Varric said, rubbing his eyes as he sat in a, now seemingly random, chair. "We're going to do this _now_?"

Hawke didn't answer, just continued to move chairs until the only ones left were the ones Varric, Merrill, and Fenris were sitting in. Varric sighed and begrudgingly moved his chair. Merrill, once she saw Varric, did the same. Hawke removed all of his daggers, hidden blades, poisons, the strap of throwing knives around his bicep, and the belt of throwing knives around his right thigh; the whole process took about ten minutes. Fenris never realized just how many weapons the rogue carried on his person at any given time until they were all lying, very carefully laid out, on the table. 

Once he was done disarming he turned to look at Fenris, raising both his hands and moving his fingers in a 'come on' type of gesture. 

Fenris turned to Varric and hoped the dwarf would see his confusion. 

"You and Hawke are going to spar to see if you're well enough to come with us," the dwarf explained.

"What?" Fenris asked, turning to Hawke. 

The rogue put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot to display his impatience. 

"Do you think that's wise, Hawke?" Merrill asked. "You could re-open his wound. I don't know any healing magic."

Hawke replied with only a careless shrug of his shoulders. 

"I suppose," Varric said, leaning against the wall, "if sparring with Hawke reopens his wound, he's not fit to be going on a mission."

Fenris narrowed his eyes, weighing his options carefully. Not wanting to jump into the fight meant admitting he wasn't well enough to go along, but it _could_ very well rupture his wound. 

Hawke was right: If he wasn't well enough for hand-to-hand, he wasn't well enough for a mission. Fenris stood and removed his armor so that he was only wearing his tunic.

He could have been wrong, but he thought he saw Hawke smile under his mask. 

Fenris rolled out his neck and widened his stance to strengthen his center of gravity. He hadn't even settled when Hawke was already moving, throwing punches so quick Fenris could barely keep up. He moved backwards, matching the rogue's steps and moving them about the room. Hawke was fast, but they were in a well-lit room, and one-on-one. Hawke did not have stealth here, so Fenris knew he had to push that advantage. 

Fenris managed to catch one of Hawke's wrists next to his face, and raised his foot to heel-kick. Hawke spun away, quickly gripping Fenris' raised ankle and spinning, sending him stumbling to the other side of the room. 

Hawke was strong for such a lithe boy. 

Fenris regained his footing and waited, listening to his heavy breathing and his heart rushing in his ears. He was already too tired, he shouldn't be doing this. 

Hawke advanced again, throwing targeted jabs and chops toward Fenris' chest. Fenris pulled his elbows in to protect his torso and when he found a free moment between assaults, threw one of his fists at Hawke's face. The rogue ducked the punch, moving to Fenris' side, but Fenris re-directed and pulled his elbow back so it connected with the side of Hawke's face. He used much more force than he'd meant to, this was a play-fight after all. He didn't have the same amount of control over his movements, undoubtedly a symptom of his weakened state. 

Hawke spun from the force and stumbled a few steps toward the far wall. The rogue had his back to all of them, so he pulled down his mask and Fenris saw him spit blood onto the ground before putting his mask back on and turning around. 

Fenris felt something in his gut wrench as he realized how hard he must have hit him.

When Hawke turned around, there was a new frigidness in his golden eyes. Fenris wondered if he should apologize, but he knew it would be ill received. Instead he put his hands up, ready to defend. 

Hawke came in, moving with all the speed of a demon fleeing hell. Fenris tried to deflect the blows, but it was useless; Hawke was moving at his full speed and Fenris knew he was too tired to get another lucky shot. A gloved fist connected with Fenris' face, then his side, then his other side. Fenris threw a wild haymaker in a last ditch effort to regain his position, but Hawke easily dodged it. The rogue then used Fenris' momentum from the punch, gripping his arm and throwing him. Fenris flew over Hawke's shoulder and landed on his back so hard he thought he might black out. 

Merrill moved as if to rush to his side, but Hawke raised his hand, silently commanding the mage to stay where she was. The rogue took the few steps necessary to put a foot on either side of Fenris' chest and crouched down over him. 

Fenris felt his chest pumping and his heart racing. He could hear Hawke's breath coming in forceful pushes, and looked up into the rogue's softened yellow eyes as he loomed over him.

They sat there for a few long, tortuous moments, saying nothing, only staring at each other. Finally, Hawke leaned down even further so the side of his face was almost touching Fenris' cheek. 

"You are no slave," Hawke whispered, so quietly Fenris barely heard it over the sound of his own heartbeat. "Do not push until you break."

Hawke lifted his head to look back down at Fenris, a gentle, sad light in his yellow eyes. Fenris felt his jaw clench, but he simply nodded as a reply. Hawke softly clapped his gloved hand onto the side of Fenris' head, where his jaw met his neck, in some kind of brotherly gesture. Then, Hawke stood and spun a finger in the air, giving Varric and Merrill the sign for 'move out.' Hawke threw his various weapons over his shoulders, then left, shutting Fenris in Varric's room alone. 

Fenris lay on the floor of the Hanged Man for hours, furious. He wasn't sure why he was so angry, he'd known Hawke had only done it for his own good. Still to be seen so weak and incapable in front of these people he didn't quite trust; it was humiliating. It was bad enough Hawke had to save him from the hunters, but now Hawke even had to save Fenris from himself. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he'd needed to show Hawke that he wasn't weak, that he would be able to repay the life-debt, that they could all count on him to be strong. 

But he wasn't. He was tired and weak. 

_You are no slave. Do not push until you break._

Fenris put the heels of his hands over his eyes and ground his teeth in his mouth. _Damn that insufferable human_ , he cursed internally. It was late in the evening by the time Fenris finally gathered his things and slinked back to Hightown. 

Perhaps when he woke in the morning, this humiliation would be but a dream.


	6. The Game

Fenris woke the next morning in a foul mood. It might have been the lack of sleep, but was more likely the lingering embarrassment he felt from the previous night. He knew Hawke had only been trying to make a point about Fenris taking care of himself. It had been for his own good, Fenris knew that...

_You are no slave. Do not push until you break._

He just couldn't get it out of his head. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and exhaled. 

A pleasant, familiar scent wafted through the air and forced him to stir. It wasn't the scent, precisely, that made him sit up, but the fact that he recognized it as the meat pie Hawke had given him the morning after being wounded. Fenris thought he'd find the rogue perched in his window again, but he found he was alone in the room. He lifted himself out of bed and made his way to the table, on top of which sat the familiar paper-wrapped package. What he didn't expect was the chess board the meat pie sat beside.

He laughed to himself and picked up one of the taller pieces, weighing it in his palm. It was obviously an old set, probably picked up from a toy store in Lowtown. Fenris didn't even have to see Hawke to understand the message: Hawke did not resent Fenris for his boredom — perhaps he understood it all too well — but Hawke needed Fenris well and that was more important. Fenris put the piece back in its place, exhaling through his nose. 

"Alright, Hawke," he said to himself, "message received."

* * *

Varric stood outside Fenris' door for a good ten minutes with his fist raised, poised for knocking. Two visits to the elf in three days? People were going to talk. 

"Damn it, Hawke," Varric cursed, turning to pace back and forth a few times. He flipped the deck of cards in his hand thoughtfully before forcing himself to knock on the door. 

The elf took his damned time getting there. Wounded or no, there was no reason to drag his feet. When he heard footsteps behind the door, Varric held the deck of cards up so it could be seen through the peephole.

He heard Fenris laugh as he opened the door.

"I'm going to start thinking you fancy me, dwarf," Fenris said, leaning on the door, chest uncovered except for the bandages. 

"Don't get my hopes up," Varric said with a smile. "You know how I love a scandal."

Fenris moved aside to allow Varric entrance, shutting the door behind him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked. 

"Wicked Grace has been moved to your place," Varric said, traipsing up the stairs. 

"I'm sorry?"

"Me, too," Varric said with a laugh. "Terribly dull over here, you know, but if you can't make it to the game it will just have to come to you."

"That is completely unnecessary," Fenris protested, following Varric up the stairs. "I'm perfectly capable of going down to the Hanged Man."

"Nonsense. Hawke insisted."

Fenris scoffed. "For as deadly and feared as he is, Hawke's almost disturbingly concerned."

"That's Hawke for you," Varric said with a shrug, plopping himself down in a chair. 

"Really?" Fenris asked, taking the seat across from Varric. "He does this all the time, then?"

"Listen, Stardust: we have all had to sit on the sidelines before, for whatever reason — and we all know it sucks nug to have to sit around the house and be useless. However, Hawke takes all of our welfare very seriously. You going into a fight half-cocked will do nothing but get everyone killed. Hawke puts it like this: You aren't just a sword, you're our _shield_ , and we need you whole."

Ah, Varric lived for this; the moment he rendered someone speechless. The widened eyes, the awkward swallow, the shifting posture: a story tellers dream, that. It was damned unfortunate that it was Hawke's words and not his own that did it, but Varric still loved the end result and was glad to take full credit.

Varric let Fenris run the words over in his mind and began dealing the cards on the table, stopping to take note of the chess board. Maybe that was the remedy Hawke had been talking about. 

"You play chess?" Varric asked, breaking the silence. 

"Poorly," Fenris confessed, picking up his cards. "A gift from Hawke, I'm assuming."

"Ah, left before you woke up?"

"I'm beginning to think it's what he has instead of a catchphrase."

"Now there's a thought," Varric said with laugh, playing a card. They played a few hands in silence before Varric spoke up. It was why he came here, after all. He had to know. "So... about what happened last night—"

"No need," Fenris said as he rearranged his cards. "Hawke did what he had to, there are no hard feelings."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Varric said, waving his cards dismissively. "After that. I want to know what Hawke said to you."

Fenris quirked a curious eyebrow and looked over his cards at the dwarf.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"Because Hawke doesn't talk to anyone," Varric lied, "except Bethany and myself on occasion. It must have been important."

"You dreadful gossip," Fenris said, a sly smile spreading across his face. "You can't stand not knowing, can you?"

"No," Varric falsely admitted, "I can't." It wasn't so much that he wanted to know what Hawke had said to the elf, he was more concerned with whether or not she gave her secret away in the process. The elf wasn't showing any signs of being in on Hawke's secret, but you could never be too careful.

Fenris narrowed his eyes as thoughts ran across his mind. He knew how stubborn Varric could be, but at the same time didn't want to divulge the details. "Suffice it to say that he made me understand that my health is more important than my pride," he said, leveling a gaze at Varric that told him that was all he would say on the subject. 

"Alright, Shine-box, keep your secrets," Varric scoffed, feigning exasperation. He knew the other players would be arriving soon, so he let it go. "I didn't want to know anyway. You were probably flirting."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

* * *

When Fenris woke in the morning he knew Hawke had been there. 

There was no familiar smell in the air, no misplaced sound, just a feeling in the pit of his stomach that was becoming all too commonplace. He sat up on his elbows and looked around the room. Sure enough, it was empty, save for him. There were no new gifts, nothing immediately out of place, but he knew.

He slowly got to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs. He scanned the room two or three times, looking for whatever Hawke had come for. There was no doubt in Fenris' mind that the rogue had been in his house; the question was ' _why_?'

When he finally took a good look at the chess board on his table, one of the white pawns had been moved up two squares, as if the first move had been made. 

Fenris laughed. He had been surprised at Hawke's absence from Wicked Grace the previous night, especially considering even Anders got the nerve to come along. Fenris had wondered why Hawke had gotten him a chess board when the rogue had no intention of coming to his home. He knew Hawke was a busy man, but if that were the case, surely a deck of cards or something Fenris could do on his own would have been a better idea. 

He looked down at the rogue white pawn leading the attack and smiled. Hawke had to save for the expedition, provide food for his family, and keep everyone on their toes. He didn't have time to waste a few hours, but he could make time for one move a night. 

Fenris leaned down to make a move, his hand hovering over the pawns. He sat there for a few long moments before deciding against it. If he was only allotted one move a day, he would take more time to consider his options.

One move a day until he was well. This would surely prove interesting.

* * *

It was a few hours before dawn by the time Hawke had finished gathering ingredients for her poisons,. She rolled out her neck in an attempt to relax the tension in her shoulders before scaling the wall to Fenris’ window. She climbed through the opening and silently made her way across the room, noticing immediately that Fenris had made a move on the chess board. She sighed in relief. Not only had he understood the gesture, he didn’t resent her for slamming him into the floor to make a point. It was like a weight had been lifted off her chest.

Hawke perched on the chair next to the table and looked at their two pawns slowly approaching each other. Perhaps she should have picked checkers; she had no idea what some of these pieces even did. Hopefully Fenris was as inept at chess as she was or this game wasn’t going to last nearly as long as she’d originally intended. 

She knew the pawns were able to move two spaces on their first move, so she decided to do that again with one of her other pawns, closer to the one Fenris had moved. After she made the move she stood and looked down at the game. She wondered what mistake she would make that told Fenris she had no idea what she was doing. 

It went on like that for a week. One move a day for each of them. After the seventh day, Hawke finished her usual rounds much earlier than usual, so she made her way back to Fenris’ room ahead of schedule. Maybe she could catch him before he fell asleep and he’d be able to tell her what the little horse and castle piece were supposed to do. They'd only been playing a week and she'd already lost two pawns, so she obviously needed help. 

Hawke was disappointed to find Fenris’ room empty. It was rather late for him to be out and about, but then again she wasn’t his mother. He was probably close to being fully healed anyway. Good thing too, she had gotten used to fighting at his back and was already growing weary of being the only close-combat fighter in their party again. 

She took her usual spot, perched on the edge of the large velvet chair, resting on the balls of her feet. She picked up the horse piece and rolled it between her fingers. Fenris had moved one of his horses to capture one of her pawns and it moved at seemingly random intervals. She had to find the pattern. How did it get from its spot next to the tiny castle to the center of the board?

“That’s a knight,” Fenris rumbled. 

Her eyes snapped to the side to look at him. She had been concentrating so hard on figuring out how the damn piece moved she hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. He had obviously been washing, since his hair was dripping wet and he only had on his leggings and had a towel around his shoulders. 

Alright, maybe Bethany had a point; he was rather good-looking. She made a note of the fact that he no longer wore bandages and the wound on his chest had mostly scarred over.

Fenris made his way across the room, rubbing the towel against the side of his head. He took the seat across from Hawke and plucked the piece out of her fingers. 

“You don’t know how to play, do you?” he asked, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. 

Hawke narrowed her eyes and made the sign for ‘a little bit’ with her thumb and forefinger. 

Fenris chuckled and put her knight back in its proper place. 

“This is your rook,” he said, putting a finger on the tiny castle in the corner. “It can move as many spaces as it wants, but only in straight lines and in any direction except diagonally.”

Hawke put her hands on her knees as she observed, nodding to signify that she understood. 

“This is your knight,” he said, moving his finger to the horse. “It moves in turns.” 

Fenris put his knight that was in the middle of the board back at its starting point, then showed her how he’d moved it to get it there. It had taken him two turns. 

“Two spaces this way, one this way. Two this way, one this way.”

Hawke clapped, a little more excitedly than she’d meant to, and nodded. 

Fenris smiled as he continued. “This is your bishop,” he said, putting his finger on the pointy one. 

Hawke interrupted by moving the bishop diagonally to show him that she remembered how it was supposed to move. 

“Exactly,” he said, moving to the next, taller piece. “This is your king. Like most kings he's very important, but rather useless."

Hawke snorted a little as she tried to stifle a laugh. 

“He can move one space in any direction, and he is the piece all the other pieces protect. If you lose your king, you lose the game.” When Hawke showed she understood, he continued. “This is your queen, she is your most powerful piece. She moves like both a rook and a bishop; in a straight line, in any direction, any number of squares.”

When Hawke nodded again Fenris sat back in his chair and draped his arm across the back of it, waiting for her to move. She drummed her fingers against her chin as she contemplated what piece she was supposed to move. Her queen could very easily take his knight, but that would leave her exposed, right? 

She put her finger on her queen then glanced up at Fenris with narrowed eyes. 

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side. 

She decided against it, pulling her hand back to drumming on her masked chin again. Her bishop could take one of his pawns, but then it would be directly next to his knight. But the knight had to move in those ‘L’ shapes, right? So it wouldn’t be able to take her bishop. 

Hawke primed her finger on her bishop, then went to gauge Fenris’ reaction again.

He simply tapped his fingers on his chair.

She took the chance, and took one of his pawns with her bishop.

“Very good,” he said with a smile. “It’s about time I got to teach you something.”

She clapped a few times in rapid succession to show that she was pleased. 

“Have you the time to continue?” he asked, moving to lean his elbows on his knees. “Or shall we keep to our previous schedule?”

She gestured both her hands at the chess board, hoping he’d understand she wanted to continue playing. 

"Very well," he said, leaning forward and taking his move. 

They played in companioned silence for a while. Hawke's turns took about five times longer than Fenris' as she tried to examine the consequences of each potential move. 

"You learn quickly," he said, watching her move her knight into position to take his pawn. He then swiftly moved his rook to take the offending knight. "Sort of," he added. 

Hawke never wanted to speak more in her life. She flailed her hands in the air and slammed her fists into the arms of the chair before sinking her chin onto her hand. Fenris laughed and sank back into his chair. 

She pointed at the chess board, then at Fenris. 

"Me... chess," he said, narrowing his eyes as he failed to grasp her gesture. 

Hawke sighed and rolled her eyes. She pointed him, then at her head, then at the chess board. 

"I... know... chess," he said, working it out as he spoke. "Ah, you're asking how I know how to play."

She nodded, putting her hands back on her knees. 

"The house chef taught the lot of us," he said. 

She tilted her head to show her curiosity and urged him to continue. 

"Danarius kept mostly slaves," he added, "but he knew that they usually made poor chefs and even worse book keepers. Cook was one of the few paid servants Danarius kept and she liked to take pity on us during social events down in the slave quarters. Chess was one of the few things I managed to pick up the few times I was allowed to spend the evening with them." Fenris exhaled and picked up one of Hawke's captured pawns and rolled it between his fingers. "My presence was oftentimes required at social events. I was a status symbol, after all." 

Hawke shook her head and scoffed. Fenris opening up about anything was rare, so she enjoyed the few glimpses she got, but it also never failed to stir an anger in her. There were few things Hawke detested over slavery, and thinking about anyone she would even remotely call an ally bound in chains made her blood boil. 

When Hawke looked back up at Fenris, he was staring at her, obviously contemplating something. 

"You are so kind," he said, but it wasn't a compliment; it confused him. He looked rather like a kicked dog trying to make sense out of someone showing him affection. "I do not understand why you put forth so much effort to hide it."

Hawke narrowed her eyes, running his words over in her head. She didn't think she was extraordinarily kind. The things she did seemed like common sense. Fenris was taking care of her by protecting Bethany's secret and helping them on their missions, Hawke was simply taking care of him in turn in whatever ways she could. She offered him no particular kindness, just did what any decent person would have done.

His life as a slave must have been terribly cruel for him to look at being thrown into the ground as a kindness. She could never really understand what he'd been through, but her heart went out to him whether she liked it or not. 

They continued their game silently, with Fenris occasionally laughing at her obvious frustration. The sun had begun to peek over the hills by the time he finally captured her king. 

"Checkmate," he said with a smile, flicking the chess piece with his finger and making it tip over. 

She rested her chin on her fist as she observed the board, wondering where she had gone wrong. 

"I did much worse the first time I played," Fenris offered, leaning his elbows on his knees. "You picked it up rather quickly."

Hawke smiled before turning to look over her shoulder, noting through the window how the sky had grown pink with the morning sun. She turned back to him and pointed a thumb over her shoulder.

"Yes, it's late," he confirmed as he stood. "Thank you for the game."

Hawke gave him a polite half-bow before going to the window and climbing through it. She turned to look back at Fenris, who was still standing in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed. Hawke pointed at the chess board, then alternated pointing between her and Fenris. 

He smiled and offered a small bow in her direction. "I look forward to it."


	7. The Revelation

Over the course of the following week Fenris tagged along on several rather easy missions. Like helping Aveline rescue one of her soldiers, Donnic, from the ambush that had resulted from her interference in the _last_ ambush they managed to derail. Fenris found it odd that Aveline liked to bring him along on her missions, since every time he saw her she managed to antagonize him about his presence in Hightown. He supposed it made sense, though; Aveline's husband had been a Templar so bringing the mages tended to make her more nervous. 

It was late on a Tordas morning when Fenris made his way to the Hanged Man to meet up with Varric.

"Oh, splendid," Anders said as Fenris entered Varric's room. "Here it was looking to be such a lovely day."

"I am honored to be your raincloud, Abomination," Fenris droned, taking a seat.

"You're everyone's raincloud," Anders muttered.

"Thank you, ladies," Varric spat, temporarily putting a stop to the squabble. "Do you mind if I get on with it? Or would you like to continue your little spat?"

Their silence answered the question. 

"Good," Varric continued. "Now, a very important client — a Magistrate — has contracted the Hawk to retrieve an escaped prisoner unharmed."

"A Magistrate?" Fenris asked. 

"Why would a Magistrate hire Hawke?" Anders asked. "Surely they have the means to hire the _proper_ authorities."

"Glancing over the fact that you don't find us 'proper,'" Varric continued, "the prisoner appears to have broken out of the Circle, so our client is looking for delicacy."

"He's a mage, then," Fenris said with no small amount of displeasure.

" _Suspected_ mage," Varric corrected. "He's also suspected of killing a few children."

"Why bring him in at all?" Fenris asked with a scoff. "Why not just kill him and be done with it?"

"Oh, yes," Anders spat. "Who needs proof when we can just kill a mage?"

"And tell me, Apostate," Fenris sneered, leaning toward Anders. "How many children must die before you are convinced of a mage's guilt?"

"Would both of you just shut up?" Varric interrupted, slamming his palms into the table. "Andraste's frilly knickers, I told Hawke not to bring both of you on this one."

Fenris and Anders exchanged scowls before Varric continued. 

"Alive or dead isn't an issue. The Magistrate is paying us for alive, so alive is what we will deliver."

"And I suppose we're going to just take him back to the Circle?" Anders asked. 

"No," Fenris growled. "We should let the child killer roam free."

"You assume his guilt solely because he is a mage," Anders argued. 

"And _you_ assume his innocence for the same reason," Fenris retorted. 

"Will you _ever_ stop harping on the mages here?" 

"No."

"Fenris, they aren't what you saw in Tevinter!" Anders defended, standing up and planting his palms on the table.

Fenris mimicked Anders' gesture and stood to lean opposite him. "The _moment_ they are free, mages will _make themselves_ magisters."

"They're slaves! You should want to _help_ them."

"I don't."

"Maker, help me," Varric mumbled to himself.

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Varric said, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. "You torture and murder elven children for being... _too beautiful_?"

Fenris noted that Hawke was flipping one of his daggers in that way he always did when he was trying to ease frustration. His sharp eyes were narrowed at their suspect and Fenris could tell the rogue was putting in significant effort to remain calm. 

Fenris and Hawke were obviously of the same mind with this child killer.

"I didn't want to hurt them," the man defended with his hands up in surrender, "they forced me. The demons don't like it when they cry."

"You said yourself that the Circle says you are possessed by no demons," Anders offered. 

"He is no mage," Fenris spat. "He is a murderer, plain and simple."

"Please," the man begged. "You have to kill me. I cannot stop!"

"I'm not getting paid enough for this," Varric groaned. 

"He sees the truth of it," Fenris offered, moving a hand to his sword. "If you will not do it, allow me."

"The Magistrate is paying us to keep the lunatic alive," Varric said. "We can't just kill him."

"So that's what this boils down to?" Fenris asked, crossing his arms. "Your unnerving concern for your _pocket_?"

"Listen, snowflake," Varric began, but was interrupted when Hawke grabbed him by the pony-tail and started pulling him to the far edge of the room. Fenris divided his attention between making sure the murderer didn't run and trying to listen to Hawke and Varric's conversation, which was very quickly turning into an argument. 

"You don't think I know that?" Varric asked. "We have _orders_ , Hawke."

Hawke's arms flailed as he replied, putting in a great effort to keep his voice from being heard by the rest of the party. 

"It's not just about money, you insufferable—" Varric stopped himself and sighed in an attempt to regain his composure. "Look, I don't like it any better than you, but everything changed the minute that box of crazy told us that the Magistrate is his father. We can't kill a Magistrate's son, Hawke. We have enough enemies in this city as it is!"

Again Hawke replied in a harsh whisper that Fenris couldn't make out, but he saw Hawke poke an angry finger into Varric's chest. 

"Not forever," Varric replied. "We already get ambushed just walking down the streets at night, we don't need the _authorities_ after us as well."

Hawke didn't say anything this time, just crossed his arms and glared down at the dwarf. 

"You should know better than to try that with me," Varric sneered. "We take the lunatic alive."

Hawke shook his head before quickly jumping into the shadows and disappearing. 

"Damn it," Varric said, returning to the group. "Grab him," he instructed as he headed for the exit.

"Where did he go?" Anders asked, referring to Hawke's mysterious disappearance. 

"How in the nine levels of hell should I know?" Varric said over his shoulder. "Hawke answers to nobody."

* * *

“There you are,” Merrill said from her seat beside Bethany at the Hanged Man. “You were gone quite a while.”

“We had a bit of a… disagreement,” Varric clarified. 

“Oh?”

“Hawke and Varric have had a lover's quarrel,” Fenris offered.

“Is that why he’s not with you all?” the elf Merrill asked.

“Hawke can't stay mad at me," Varric defended. "It was the right call.”

“You do not look certain,” Fenris said as he took a seat. 

“I didn’t think he would storm off like that,” Anders admitted. “He must have been quite angry.”

“Hawke just needs time to cool off,” Varric said, waving Moira into the room.

They all drank and quickly became exuberant. Regardless that Hawke never spoke, Fenris was aware of the rogue's absence. Usually the two of them sat together, silently observing more than joining in. Tonight Fenris sat against the wall alone, watching the celebration and listening to the conversation as an outsider does.

“I have yet to even meet your brother, Varric,” Anders was saying. 

“Why in Thedas would you want to?” Varric asked.

“Varric doesn’t like his brother very much,” Bethany offered.

“And here I thought it took blood magic to read minds.”

“At least you both still _have_ family,” Merrill said. “I don’t really have anyone I can call that anymore.”

“That is your own fault,” Fenris offered. 

“You don’t think I know that?” she snapped back. “But that’s not the point. Whether or not you like your family doesn’t matter, does it? Just the fact that you have it.”

“I suppose you're right, Daisy,” Varric soothed, patting the elf's hand.

“I imagine having Hawke as a sibling would lead to a lot of one-sided conversations," Anders said to Bethany. "How can you have a debate when the reply is always glaring?”

“Hawke gets the glaring from our father,” Bethany said with a laugh, pulling her cloak around to cover the bottom half of her face like a mask and narrowing her eyes. “Look at me, I’m menacing!”

“I think you should leave the glaring to Hawke, Sunshine," Varric said with a smile. "You’re much too gentle to pull it off.”

They all laughed, all but Fenris, anyway. He sat, wide eyed as the puzzle pieces fell together. The moment Bethany wrapped her cloak around her face Fenris saw the resemblance. Bethany’s bright blue eyes could hardly be compared to the sharp gold of Hawke's, but the shape of their eyes was identical. How had he not seen it before? He had remembered Bethany saying once that their father had been 'tall as a mountain'. Then why had Fenris never realized how odd it was that Hawke and Bethany were almost the same height? Fenris had always found it odd how Varric talked, especially when referring to Hawke, but in that moment Fenris finally realized _why_ it was so strange: Varric never said 'he' and never said 'him'. Varric only ever said 'Hawke'.

It wasn't until the words that still haunted him echoed through his mind that he was sure. 

_You are no slave. Do not push until you break._

Hawke was a woman.

That was the only explanation, wasn't it? The only logical answer? The more he thought on it, the stranger it seemed. Why hide your gender, of all things? Was there some sort of shame that came along with being a woman from Ferelden? No one seemed to treat Bethany differently. Why would Hawke being a woman affect anything? He had thought that when he was finally let in on the secret, everything would make sense; but now that he knew, it just became more ridiculous by the moment. Maybe he was wrong and had just jumped on the first conclusion that made sense. 

_What a bizarre thing to hide_ , Fenris thought to himself. 

 

"You alright?" Bethany asked, taking a seat next to him. 

"Hmmm?" Fenris said, snapping out of his thoughts and focusing on the mage next to him. 

"You look troubled."

"You always think I look troubled," Fenris said with a smile, reaching for his tankard on the table. 

"True," she said with a laugh. "Your brooding knows no bounds."

"I do not brood," he said into his mug before taking a drink. 

"So," she said, straightening her skirts a little. "What happened between Hawke and Varric?"

"Has he not told you?"

"He won't give me the details; says I'm 'ruining his good time' by asking. I just want to know if I should be worried."

"Worried? About Hawke?"

"We are related you know."

Fenris laughed. He knew all too well, but was careful that he didn't let on. If Hawke thought it was an important thing to hide, then he wasn't about to disrespect that. 

"The child-killer turned out to be the son of the Magistrate who'd hired us," Fenris explained. "From what I could gather, Hawke wanted to kill him, but Varric did not want to make an enemy of the Magistrate. In the end, Varric was immovable on the subject."

"And what about you?" Bethany asked. 

"What _about_ me?"

"What did you want to do?"

Fenris exhaled through his nose and looked out into the gathering of people. "Elves do not get the same justice humans do in this city. He was murdering young elven girls, claiming it was at the behest of demons possessing him. He was simply mad, and should have been put down before he could cause anymore damage."

"I do not like all the killing," Bethany said. "My father trained me as a girl, and I only ever really concentrated on healing arts. Still, it seems to me that a man who kills children, no matter their race, is a man who cannot be saved."

"My thoughts exactly," Fenris said with a nod. 

Bethany looked at him for a long moment, a smile hinting at the corner of her mouth. "You and Hawke are a lot more alike than I think either of you realize."

"Perhaps," he said with a small shrug. "Though you are a constant reminder of how different we are."

"Oh? How so?"

"You are the reason for Hawke's sympathy toward the mages," he said simply.

"You have _no_ sympathy for them?"

Fenris opened his mouth to say no, but looking at the mage beside him the word wouldn't come out. "It is not that I do not have sympathy for them," he said instead. "I know all too well what it's like to have no control over whom or what you are, but in the Circle you would be safe: from others and from yourself."

"I see," she said, sitting back in her chair. "I suppose you _would_ see me sent to the Gallows."

"I do not wish that for you, Bethany," Fenris said, leveling his eyes at her, "but I would sooner see you sent to the Circle than killed by the Templars."

"I would sooner be killed by the Templars than made tranquil."

"You would not be made tranquil," he assured, leaning back. "Of that much, I'm certain."

"Now, why do you say that?"

"If for no other reason," he said, smiling at her, "because you are Hawke's sister, and he would never allow it."

Bethany smiled and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Despite my best efforts, it seems that I rather like you, Fenris."

"I am glad to hear it," he said with a nod.

* * *

Fenris walked home that night with a fair amount of uneasiness in his stomach. Every memory of Hawke he could pull up only solidified his belief that she was a woman: the way her eyes narrowed, how she would sink into a hip whenever she crossed her arms. If she had the same curves as Bethany, they were well hidden under the several layers of cloth and leather she wore, yet it all made perfect sense. Never showing her face, limbs, or any skin besides that around her eyes all had context if she was trying to hide her gender. Even greater context was added in that she refused to speak, thinking her voice would give her away. 

_You are no slave. Do not push until you break._

Fenris stopped with his hand on the door knob. 

She had spoken to him. She knew very well that she risked revealing her gender by doing so, especially with his elven hearing, but she had done it anyway. Ten words she seemingly thought more important than her secret. 

Fenris didn't know if he was over-thinking the whole thing; after all he still didn't even know for sure that he was right. Regardless, as he finally walked into the mansion, he realized that — perhaps despite himself — he was smiling.


	8. The Interrogation

"Well, look at _you_ slithering in at this ungodly hour," Gamlen slurred. 

"Good evening, Uncle," Anara said with a sigh as she took down her hood and mask. "I see you've had a full night at the Rose this evening."

"Indeed, I have," he said, well on his way to falling asleep in front of the fire... again. " _Someone_ in this family should be having a good time."

"Maker knows you drink enough booze for the lot of us," she mumbled. She was in no mood to deal with him, so she started to make her way toward her and Bethany's room. 

"While you are living under my roof," Gamlen half-heartedly called after her, "you really should not insult me or my habits. I certainly make no bones about _your_ misdeeds."

She turned on her heel, making a concentrated effort to keep her voice down. " _My_ misdeeds are keeping this household _fed_ and — lest we forget — _you_ swimming in mead."

"Speaking of your pitiful monthly tithe," he shot back at her, trying and ultimately failing to rise to his feet, "certainly with the acclaim this little... _persona_ of yours is getting, you can spare a few more silver a month. You are becoming quite the legend."

"Eighty-five silver was what we agreed, and it would be plenty for you to live on if you didn't throw it all away," she sneered softly.

"My tongue does get mighty loose at the Rose," he said with a drunken smirk. "It'd be a pity for me to spill your little secret to a rather persuasive _whore_."

"Do not taunt me, cretin," she snapped, pointing a threatening finger at him. "You know as well as I do that I am the only coin-earning member of this family; so if you would like to go back to begging in the gutter, then by all means, expose me. Otherwise, keep your greedy trap shut!"

She hadn't meant to be so cruel about it, but she hadn't been in the best mood. She carried the weight of her whole family on her shoulders; she slept for precious few hours a night; and on top of that, her falling out with Varric had left her in a foul mood, even after she stormed off to cool her head and take care of everything. She was a woman of few complaints, but she wasn't about to be lectured by the man who had squandered her mother's inheritance and family home to buy liquor and whores. 

Her tone didn't matter anyway; Gamlen had already drifted to sleep. 

"Honestly," she said to herself as she snatched the blanket from the sofa. "Uncle, you could sleep through a tornado." She flung the blanket over Gamlen and went to sit on the sofa, looking through the window on the far side. The sun hadn't started peeking over the mountains yet, but it had already started lightening the edge of the sky a cheerful shade of blue. 

Anara exhaled a breath through her nose and closed her eyes. _Just a few more months_ , she told herself. _A few more months and a few more sovereigns, and it'll be over._

* * *

Fenris found he was more eager than usual to get to the Hanged Man that morning. He arrived in the early afternoon — after taking care of all his usual morning routine — and quickly made his way to the back room. 

“If we don’t figure out the best way into the Deep Roads,” Varric was saying, “Bartrand will decide for us and get everyone killed. This would be so much easier if you’d have stopped me drinking last night like you were _supposed_ to.”

When Fenris entered, Varric was leaning over the table with his palms pressed flat against it. The map of the Deep Roads that Anders had given them was sprawled out across the tabletop as Varric ran his eyes back and forth over it. Hawke was sitting atop Varric, one foot on either of his shoulders, quite like a bird as she read the map over the dwarf’s head. 

“You two are almost the same height as the average man that way,” Fenris teased as he entered the room. 

Varric and Hawke both looked up at him, then at each other. 

“Are you still up there, you daft human?” Varric said, swatting at Hawke with a hand. “Get down.”

Hawke smiled as she slowly slinked off of his shoulders and onto the table, settling into her usual avian perch on the balls of her feet.

“How exactly did you _not know_ he was up there?” Fenris asked as he took a seat, careful to use the masculine pronoun to not give away his knowledge. 

“Hawke barely weighs as much as Bianca, blighted little wraith,” Varric said, waving a dismissive hand and returning his eyes to the map. "The hangover isn't helping."

Fenris had stopped listening; his eyes were fixed on Hawke as she slowly stepped off of the table to lean against the wall. Her movements were as languid and silent as ever, but now that Fenris knew, it was almost obvious that she was a woman. He had heard that Hawke was a man, so he had naturally assumed as much when they met. Fenris wondered if he might have known sooner had he not held any assumptions upon first meeting her.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he realized her sharp eyes were fixed on him, obviously curious why he was staring at her. 

“I have heard a rumor this morning,” Fenris said as a means of explanation. It wasn’t a lie, but it certainly wasn’t what he’d been thinking about.

“A rumor?” Varric asked, brightening immediately. “I’m all ears, Snowflake.”

“I have heard of a Magistrate’s son, returned to the Gallows only to take his own life during the night.”

“See there?” Varric said, gesturing a hand at Hawke. “You made such a fuss and the child-killer ended up dead anyway!”

“Apparently,” Fenris continued, fixing his eyes on Hawke and unable to fight the small smile that tugged at his lips, “the man slit his own throat with a blade that the guards swear he did not have when they left him.”

Hawke’s eyes widened, then quickly narrowed at him. It was only a moment, the space of a heartbeat, but in that sliver between seconds Fenris could tell that Hawke knew. He didn't know if it was the way he'd been looking at her, or if there was something telling in his eyes, but she knew.

He gave her a full, knowing grin. He couldn’t help himself. 

Varric didn’t notice; he was too busy putting the pieces together. 

“You got into the Gallows?” Varric practically shouted at Hawke. “How in Andraste’s flaming garters did you get into the Gallows?”

Hawke just turned to level her eyes at him, immediately expressing what a stupid question that was. 

“Maker’s breath,” Varric said, running his palm down the side of his face. “You shave years off my life every day.”

* * *

Thrask was a perfect example of why mages belonged in the Circle. Fenris knew that it was the Templar’s sympathy for his daughter that ended up getting her killed. If he had put her in the Circle, she would have been safe from the hunters that came for her, and the demon to which she had eventually surrendered. 

The party met Thrask in front of a cavern on the Wounded Coast, where he informed them of the mages hiding therein. It was clear that the Templar wanted to help these mages by having Varric and Hawke discover them rather than the authorities. By expressing his desire to see the mages sent back to the Circle, Fenris could tell the man did not wish these mages to befall the same fate as his daughter. 

It was a lesson hard learned, and Fenris pitied him. 

They ventured into the caves, making quick work of the skeletons and abominations the mages had raised. When they finally found the group hiding in the innermost chamber, it became clear that their leader was causing most of the trouble. He didn’t last long. 

The remainder of the mages surrendered as soon as Decimus was dead, quick to say that the blood magic had been all his influence. Fenris scoffed at their plea for mercy; but as he watched Hawke and Varric discussing what was to be done from afar, he somehow knew Hawke wouldn’t kill the Templar, regardless of Anders casting his vote for that option.

“Alright,” Varric said as he made his way back to address the mages. “You all have broken the law by escaping the Circle. As this situation is of your own doing, we will not kill a good man so that you may be free. _However,_ we are going to aid you by telling the Templar that you are all dead. Then you can get yourselves to safety when we have left.”

“Very well,” Grace — now Decimus' widow — replied. “If you think you can end this without any more bloodshed, then we are with you."

“This is a mistake,” Fenris growled as they headed back toward the entrance. “You saw what they were doing in here. Raising the dead, summoning demons from hell; these are blood mages, you must see that.”

“They were made desperate,” Anders defended. “I’ll admit that Decimus had gone astray, but the rest of them were not to blame.”

“How convenient,” Fenris snapped.

“You cannot blame all mages for the misdeeds of some,” Anders protested.

“And _you_ cannot assume innocence until proven guilty with a room full of innocent corpses. How can you justify killing an honest templar over killing _guilty_ mages?”

“Templars are not innocent, they are murderers!”

“A mage _and_ a hypocrite,” Fenris scoffed. "What company I keep these days."

Hawke turned around and gave them a glare, that dangerous sparkle entering her eyes and telling them both that their argument was over. Fenris gave her a disappointed sigh but opted to remain silent. 

Her eyes hung on him even after he looked away — he could feel it. 

"Ser Thrask," Varric said, as they exited the caves, "I'm afraid I bear you ill tidings."

"The mages," Thrask said, appearing to know what came next. He was standing beside Alain, the young mage they had encountered earlier who wanted nothing to do with Decimus and his blood magic. 

"I'm afraid—"

"What's going on here?" an unknown voice bellowed.

"Ser Kerras?" Thrask said. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard about your endeavor to return the apostates to the Circle," Kerras replied. "I came to offer my... assistance."

"You mean you came to make sure they never _make it_ to the Circle," Thrask sneered.

"These mages are criminals," Karras spat. "They deserve to be treated as such."

"They have done no harm!" Thrask protested. "You cannot just—"

"The point is moot," Varric interrupted, getting rather irritated that he'd tried to speak three times now. "The mages refused to come quietly — save for Alain, here, who fled as soon as there was mention of blood magic — and since they would not listen to reason..." Varric pointed a thumb over his shoulder at Hawke to finish his sentence. 

"Well, well, Thrask," Kerras said, crossing his arms. "I had no idea you knew how to contact the Hawk. He's not exactly on the right side of the law, you know."

"This is a dangerous line of inquiry, Ser Kerras," Varric said, rubbing his thumb against the pads of his fingers. 

Hawke, of course, took her cue and unsheathed the twin talons on her back, spinning them in her palms before holding them at the ready. Fenris stepped from the shadows of the cave where Anders was hiding with the mages to stand behind Hawke. 

"I am not afraid of the Hawk," Kerras spat. 

"Let me get this straight," Varric said with a bemused laugh. "The Hawk just slaughtered a group of twenty-some-odd _blood_ mages, and you think you and your four men are going to just, what? Kill us all and walk away unscathed?"

Kerras turned to look at his men who were already starting to take timid steps backwards. 

"The mages," Kerras said, turning back to face them. "They are all dead?"

"Every one," Varric said. "The Hawk doesn't like witnesses. Bad for business, you know."

Hawke spun the blade she used to slit Decimus' throat, splattering the ground at the Templar's feet with blood. 

Ser Kerras made his excuses and left.

* * *

"The blood was a nice touch," Anders said once they'd returned to the Hanged Man. He was already on his second pint in a foolhardy attempt to keep up with Varric. 

"Indeed, it was," Varric said, starting his third. "I'm surprised there managed to be fresh blood on your dagger still." 

Hawke removed the glove from her left hand, revealing the bandage over her palm.

"It was _your_ blood?" Anders asked. "I didn't even see you do that from where I was standing."

"Clever," Varric said with a laugh. "I love when you finish our battles before we have a chance to start them."

"Seems like a lot of effort to save a few Templars," Anders said under his breath.

"It was not only to save the Templars," Fenris sneered, "but also to save your mages."

"Please, you two," Varric said, rubbing his temples. "Enough for tonight. Can't we simply drink and be merry?"

Anders and Fenris exchanged scowls before returning to drinking from their respective tankards. 

The evening held an unusual electric charge as they all sat together in Varric's room, though Fenris knew the only people privy to it were Hawke and himself. He didn't quite look at her — he couldn't even see her in his peripheral vision — but he knew she was staring at him. He could feel the weight of her icy gaze on his back. She had to know that he'd figured out her secret; perhaps she was debating what to do with him. He knew very well that if she wanted him dead, there was precious little he could do about it. He only wished she would stop staring at him. 

"Right this way, ladies," Moira was saying, leading two girls toward the room. "Varric! I have two young ladies here who wish to meet Master Hawke."

All eyes shot to Hawke. She stood as if to try and make an escape, but the door flung open as the two girls pushed inside. Two very pretty young ladies entered the room, both immediately fixing their eyes on Hawke standing on the other side. They couldn't have been more than eighteen, both with strawberry blonde curls and big, round blue eyes. 

Fenris smiled as he watched the girls back Hawke up into a corner. He didn't understand anything they said, as they were both talking at the same time, but he relished in the frustration that was obviously building in Hawke's eyes. 

"I'm Iris," the older one said. 

"I'm Lily!" the other one chimed. 

"We saw when you saved that old man with the white hair," Iris squealed. "You were so brave!"

Hawke's eyes darted to Fenris, sparkling with amusement. 

"How do you know he was old?" Varric asked them. 

"Oh, well, he had to be! You should have seen his hair! It was white as snow."

Fenris coughed into his hand, making the girls turn to him wide-eyed. 

"I wouldn't call myself young," he said, leaning back in his chair, "but I'm _certainly_ not old."

"In their defense," Varric said with a laugh, "they were probably too busy swooning over the Hawk to get a good look at you. You should be grateful they noticed you at all."

The girls whirled back around to Hawke, saying something about it being an honor to meet him, but stopped short when they realized she was gone. 

"Where did he go?" Lily cried. "He was just here!"

"He does that," Anders said, saluting them with his beer. "Damned rude of him."

"He's probably very busy," Iris sighed.

"Yes, yes," Varric said, walking the girls to the door. "Hawke's a right hero. If you hurry out now, you can catch up."

* * *

Fenris didn't stay long after Varric ushered the girls out of the Hanged Man. Anders and Varric quickly became lost in their drinking contest, and Fenris soon felt out of place. When he opened the door to the mansion, it was almost pitch black inside. He started to make his way toward the stairs, intending to light a fire in the master bedroom, when that old, familiar uneasiness kicked in his stomach. 

Before he'd had a chance to do anything else, he was pulled by his throat and slammed into a wall. A gloved hand covered his mouth to keep him from calling out and a forearm pressed firmly against his jugular to keep him pinned against the wall. 

Fenris knew it was her; no one else could sneak up on him like this. His vision quickly adjusted to the darkness, but even so all he could see of her was her bright golden eyes and a hint of her pale skin. She moved her hand from his mouth before she spoke. 

"How did you know?"

"Well, well," Fenris said with a knowing smile, "what a lovely voice you have, Hawke."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Taunting her was probably not the best course for convincing her not to kill him to keep him quiet. 

"Answer the question, elf," she demanded. 

"Little things," he said, growing serious under the weight of her anger. "I simply figured it out on my own."

"And why haven't you told the others?"

"Why would I?" he asked. 

"You haven't told _anyone_?"

"No," he said. "While I admit that I do not _understand_ why it's a secret, it is not my secret to reveal."

Whether she meant to or not, the pressure across his throat lightened.

"And you still follow my orders?" Hawke asked as she released him. "You have no qualm being led by a woman?"

He narrowed his eyes as he tried to process her question. "Does the fact that you're a woman somehow negate all previous evidence that you are capable and intelligent?"

"To some," she said. 

"Not me," he replied, crossing his arms. "In Tevinter, the only measure of power is magic. Gender has little to do with anything."

"Well, you are not most people, clearly."

"Clearly," he confirmed with a smile. "Hawke, you saved my life, and despite your naive and foolish support for the mages, you have yet to lead me astray. I am not in the habit of making enemies of powerful allies."

She tilted her head to the side and blinked as if the fact that he was so logical astounded her. 

"Thank you," she said finally. "For your discretion, and for your understanding."

"Thank _you_ for not slitting my throat to keep me quiet."

It was the first time he'd heard her laugh, and he found himself smiling because of it. 

"I hadn't even thought of that, honestly," she said, turning to make her way for the door. "I do not kill good people."

"You find me good, do you?"

"Good enough," she said over her shoulder. 

"That's it?" he asked, turning to face her with a smile. "I figured out the big secret, and all I get is 'good enough?'"

"That's it," she said, turning to look at him in the doorway. "What, do you want a prize?"

"I would settle for knowing your name," he said crossing his arms. 

She stood there for long moments, standing in the open doorway, silhouetted by the bright moonlight.

"Anara," she said finally. "Anara Hawke."

He smiled, but she closed the door behind her before he could react. 

_Anara_ , he repeated in his head. Considering what the word meant in Tevene, he found the name was rather ironic.


	9. The Reveal

"Fenris knows," Hawke said, bursting into Varric's room just as the sun was rising over the mountains. 

"Mmmf," Varric moaned in reply from his bed. 

Hawke rolled her eyes and made her way to his bedside. 

"Varric," she said, louder this time, but still not loud enough to wake up the other patrons.

"Mmhmm," he mumbled. 

"Damn it," she cursed, gripping his blanket and swiftly pulling it off the bed entirely. She really should have known better as the blanket fell to the ground, revealing that he was very — very —  
naked. "AGH!" she cried, averting her eyes. 

"WAGH!" he shouted, startling awake. "What! What is it?" he roared, accidentally rolling himself off his bed in his frenzy and landing on the floor with an 'oof'. 

"Can't you wear underwear like a normal person?" she sneered, crossing her arms as she looked the other way. 

"Well _excuse me_ for sleeping naked in my _private_ quarters," he spat, pulling the blanket from the floor to cover himself. "Maker, Hawke, it's not even morning! What are you doing here?"

"Fenris knows," she said, turning back around.

"Knows what?" He asked. He stood up from the floor, making sure to keep the blanket wrapped around him.

"That I'm a Capricorn," Hawke said with a roll of her eyes. "What do you _think_?!"

"I haven't slept enough to be thinking any—" Varric paused, his eyes widening in realization. "Wait, about _you_? He knows about _you_?"

"Yes!" she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. 

"Well, that clever little shit," Varric said, rubbing his chin. "How did he figure it out?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "He said it was little things and he just put it together."

Varric frowned. "Wait, you _spoke_ to him?"

"What was I _supposed_ to do? He knew! Should I have just kept up the act and hoped he forgot? I needed to know if he'd told anyone."

"And has he?"

"No," she said with a sigh. "Well, that's what he says."

"Do you believe him?"

"I do," she said, leaning against the wall. "He obviously hasn't told the others, and who else _would_ he tell?"

"Perhaps it was your little need to cozy up to him," he said with a disapproving eyebrow cocked.

"What are you on about?" she asked. 

"After you flattened him into my floor," Varric said, sitting on the edge of his bed and motioning a hand toward where they had sparred. "Something about telling him his pride was not worth his health or some such nonsense."

She shook her head. "It was after that. Sometime after our little fallout about the Magistrate's son."

"How do you know?"

Hawke hesitated. "I just... I just do, alright?" She didn't really know how either, now that she put her mind to it. She had realized it in the smallest hint of his expression the morning after she had snuck into the Gallows. He couldn't have known for long before that. 

"Well?" Varric asked, quickly growing tired again. "If he's known for two days, I'll assume he has no problems with it?"

"Surprisingly, no," she said, rubbing her chin. "Perhaps it's time to tell the others as well."

"If, despite my best efforts, the elf already knows, I don't see a reason why the rest of our merry party shouldn't. As long as Daisy can manage not to spill the beans to strangers, I don't think they're going to have a problem, Hawke."

"Perhaps you're right," she said with a sigh. She looked down at the ground as she turned the thought over in her mind. She could tell them before the expedition, especially since she didn't plan on bringing either Anders or Merrill in the first place. That would give them time to come to terms with it and — with any luck — keep it to themselves.

Silence fell over the room, making Varric drum his fingers on the footboard of his bed.

"Well, this has been a lovely chat," Varric said, idly scratching his naked chest. "Now, get the hell out."

* * *

“I will admit,” Varric said to the frantic worker. “Dragonlings were hardly what I expected to find here, but they certainly aren’t anything we can’t handle.”

“Believe what you want,” the worker shrieked. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

“Honestly,” Varric said, shaking his head. “What ever happened to courage?”

“Not everyone can be as stalwart as the dwarves,” Anders chimed. 

“That is the truth, my friend. That is the truth.”

They made their way through the Bone Pits, picking up whatever treasures they could from the corpses littering the area. It wasn’t until they came out into the open space that the giant Dragon Matron came down upon them, the gusts of its mighty wings almost knocking them down.

“Andraste’s flaming headdress,” Varric shouted. “We seem to have made a critical error.”

“What happened to your dwarven courage?” Fenris rumbled.

“It is second only to my sense of dwarven survival.”

Fenris charged, attracting the giant reptile's attention as he would any normal foe. He knew Hawke was right behind him, moving to the dragon's unguarded flank. Varric and Anders stayed at a distance, per usual, staying out of harm's way so they could utilize their respective talents more efficiently. 

The thing was massive— far larger than anything they had fought to date. Fenris could feel his armor caving under the High Dragon's mighty blows. Every once in a while Hawke or Varric would land a particularly painful blow and the dragon's attention would turn to them, forcing Fenris to run across the platform to defend his comrades. Fenris sprinted in front of Anders, taking the powerful blow to his back to prevent it from hitting the mage. As soon as the beast was focusing on him again, Fenris would move it back out toward the edge.

A high-pitched whistle made Fenris' ears twitch. He peered under the dragon's large frame to see Hawke across the battlefield, pointing up to a small cliff on the mountainside. Fenris nodded to show her he understood before leading the dragon in the opposite direction, giving Hawke the opportunity to scurry up the mountain's face. When she was securely in place she whistled again to give signal to Fenris. Once he heard it, he pulled his sword to his side, just barely side-stepping a wild claw as he darted under the creature. He made it to the other side, skidding on his heels in the dirt and slamming into the rock of the mountainside. 

The High Dragon slowly turned, trying to locate its attacker. When it finally brought its face into the rogue's range, Hawke leapt from the rock and onto its neck. Fenris tried to distract it, slicing his sword through the tendon in the back of its heels. Hawke shimmied up to the head before reeling her daggers back and plunging them deep into one of its eyes.

It wailed in agony, flailing its head from side to side in an attempt to shake Hawke off while she held on for dear life. The dragon brought a claw to its face, gripped the rogue in a mighty talon, and threw her into the dirt. Fenris ran to try and defend her, but it took Hawke in its teeth and began to thrash her back and forth like a meal in need of tenderizing. 

The cry that tore from her throat when the fangs pierced her skin wasn't something Fenris would forget. It shattered the air around her like wood tearing to splinters. It sent a chill through Fenris.

He ducked under the dragon's long neck, running it's blade across it as he ran, slicing a deep gash through its throat. When it didn't release Hawke, he made another go, cleaving his sword through the remaining flesh of the dragon's throat until he hit spine. 

It released Hawke mid swing, wailing in agony. The rogue was launched from the dragon's mouth onto the rocky floor, where she eventually rolled off the cliff. 

" _Hawke_!" Fenris shouted, abandoning his sword and sprinting to the cliff's edge. Hawke had both her hands wrapped around jutting rock as she clung to mountainside. 

"I can't... hold myself up," she grunted. 

Fenris could see that her blood was pouring down the rocks and knew he was running out of time. He gripped a large protruding root and jumped down to where he could reach her. He gripped her by the back of her leather vest as he started trying to pull them both back up to the platform. 

"Hang on," he demanded, and he felt her weak hands cling to his shoulders. Anders came to the cliffs edge and reached down and Fenris lifted Hawke so that her outstretched hand could reach the mage. Then, together, Anders and Fenris lifted her up onto the platform. 

Varric was running in circles, firing arrows over his shoulder to distract the wailing beast, but it was floundering with its neck practically severed. Fenris left Hawke in Anders' care, retrieved his sword, and put the High Dragon out of its misery. 

"Well," Varric said, panting as he ripped a fang out of the dragon's mighty maw. "That was... fun."

"I've done all I can," Anders called out to them, his arms quivering under the force of keeping him from collapsing onto the ground. 

Fenris and Varric quickly made their way over, noticing how Hawke still writhed on the ground.

"Why is she still in so much pain?" Fenris said, kneeling down beside her.

"She?" Anders said, eyes widening with realization. "She..." he repeated. 

Fenris spared a moment to curse himself for his carelessness, but would have to chastise himself for it later. He could tell that Varric was not happy with the situation — in any way — as he knelt down beside Hawke. 

"We'll have to see what we're dealing with," Varric said, moving his hands to reveal the wound in her side.

Fenris upturned his arm and held it out to Anders, clenching his fist and grinding his teeth to bring his markings alight. "My lyrium," he said, with no small amount of urgency. "Use it to get your strength back and help her."

Anders looked at the elf's glowing arm, hesitating for a moment before slowly stretching his hand out toward it. 

"No," Hawke said, a hand flying up to the neck of Anders' robe. "Don't."

"Hawke, let us help you," Fenris demanded. "Your secret is not worth your—"

"I made a promise," she said, her eyes rolling back. "I made a promise."

Fenris spat an angry curse at her in Tevene before lifting her in his arms against his chest. 

“Hurry,” he demanded. “We have to get her back to the city.”

Fenris quickly gained distance on the exhausted Anders and the dwarf with less-than-impressive strides. He didn’t know what promise she had been talking about — perhaps she was delirious from the blood loss. Though, now that he thought about it, she hadn’t been bleeding when he picked her up which meant Anders must have been able to close the wounds. But if that was the case, why was she in so much pain?

Her whole body surged in his arms and she cried out against the outstanding pain.

"Maker, it feels like my insides are on fire," she sneered, writhing in his arms. 

"Stay with me," he demanded. "We are almost there."

Fenris kicked in Hawke’s door and burst into the room where Bethany and the mother, Leandra, were sitting together in front of the fire. They both stood up, startled by the intrusion. 

“She’s injured,” Fenris growled, like it was a command. He made his way past the women and laid Hawke in front of the fire.

Bethany knelt down and quickly started to pull away Hawke's clothes where she was wounded. The mother quickly became hysterical, as Fenris imagined the woman often did. Bethany managed to pull back Hawke's undershirt enough to see the wounds in her abdomen and upper thigh. As Fenris had suspected, the wounds were closed — but they had turned black and were spreading in every direction. 

“Maker,” Bethany breathed. “She’s been poisoned. Wha— what did this?”

“It was a dragon,” Fenris said between panting breaths. “Managed to get her in its teeth.”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” Bethany said, panic obviously rising in her face. 

“We do not have time for hysterics,” he said urgently, trying to ignore how Leandra wailed in the background. “Do what you can for her. I will go get Merrill — she will know what to do.”

Fenris turned to bolt out of the house, running smack dab into the exhausted second half of his party. 

“Get her out of here,” he shouted, motioning his head toward Leandra. “I’m going to get Merrill.”

He didn’t wait to hear their responses. If they were confirming or denying the order, then he didn’t care to hear it, and if it was questions about what was going on, he didn’t have time to answer them. Instead he quickly crossed the distance between the hovel and the Alienage before bursting through Merril’s door. The Dale quickly hid whatever ridiculous thing she was holding and stood up. 

“Fenris,” she said. “I never expected you to—”

“No time,” he panted, grabbing the girl’s wrist and starting to drag her toward the door. “Hawke has been poisoned, we need your expertise.”

“Oh no,” she said, quickly pulling her wrist out of Fenris’ grasp and going to snatch up her pack. 

"I don't know what you'll be able to do," Fenris said as they ran across the Alienage. "She was bitten by a dragon and the wounds have turned black. And, yes, Hawke is a woman and we do not have time for you to be surprised about it."

Much to his surprise, the Dale simply nodded and continued to sprint.

When they got back to the house Anders was standing, fuming, in the doorway. Fenris pushed him out of the way to let Merrill pass, then fell to his knees in exhaustion. Varric and Leandra were gone, undoubtedly by design. Hawke was awake and writhing in pain near the fire while Bethany frantically tried to help.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Anders accused under his breath. “That she was a woman.”

“I knew,” Fenris admitted between panting breaths.

“Why did she find you worthy of knowing and not me?”

“Now is not the time for your dramatics,” he scolded, getting to his feet. “She told me nothing, I figured it out on my own.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?” he heard Bethany ask.

“Oh dear, it’s moving very fast,” Merrill said, digging a vial out of her pack. “Hawke, dear, I need you to drink this. It’ll protect your heart from the poison.”

Fenris made his way inside, not wanting to further his conversation with Anders. 

“Is that it?” Bethany asked. “Is she going to be alright?”

“Dragon’s Fang doesn’t have an antidote,” the elf said. “Most people die from the tremendous pain before the poison even manages to reach the heart; but if she can make it through the night, it should pass through her system without any permanent damage.”

“ _If_ she can make it?” Bethany said, worriedly turning her hands over each other.

Merrill exhaled and pulled her knees up against her chest. “Like I said… the poison usually doesn’t have the chance to get to the heart.”

“Maker,” Bethany said, running a gentle hand over Hawke’s brow, removing her hood as she did. 

“Don’t worry, Beth,” Hawke said through her teeth. “I’ve had it worse than this.”

“Oh? Like when?” Bethany smiled, trying to mask her fear.

“It’s… it’s a little hard to think right now…”

“You need to stay awake, Hawke,” Merrill added. “If you sleep you'll succumb to the shock and it'll kill you.”

“Nothing makes you want to sleep quite like crippling pain,” Hawke grunted. 

Fenris and Bethany smiled, though they were the only ones. 

“Now it is _I_ who must stay up with you, finicky sister,” Bethany chimed.

“I thought, surely, revenge would be sweeter than this," Hawke shot back between breaths.

Fenris knelt beside Bethany. “Keep her awake,” he said. “Varric has the fang that the apothecary needed from us. I will take it to him and see if there is anything he has to be of help. I will return immediately afterward and help you keep her awake.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Hawke said as she cringed. “Too much of your brooding and not even this pain will be able to keep me conscious.”

“I assure you,” Fenris said as he stood, “the revenge is perfectly sweet for me.”

Hawke laughed, but the pain it caused was obvious. Bethany reached up and took Fenris’ armored hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He looked down at her, confused as to why she had felt the need. 

“Thank you,” she said before looking up at him. Her eyes were red from where she was fighting tears. 

“Do not sleep,” he said, hoping to reassure her. “I will return.”

She nodded.

He headed out and Anders turned in a huff to follow him. 

“A woman,” Anders cursed under his breath. “All of these rumors of witches and demons… all to cover up that she’s a woman. I feel like a right fool.”

“You _are_ a right fool,” Fenris confirmed. 

“How did you realize? I never thought—”

“It does not matter how,” he spat. “It changes nothing.”

“How can you say that? It changes everything!”

“How do you figure, Abomination?” Fenris asked. He didn't bother to stop, hoping that the mage would eventually stop following him. 

“The only things we knew about him was that he was deadly and a man, and now half of that information is false. How can we trust anything she says? How can you put your faith in a woman who has deceived us from the very beginning?”

“I do not recall her, or any of our party, telling us she was a man.”

“They never told us she was a woman either,” Anders retorted. 

“Why does it _matter_?”

“We were deceived," he said, flailing his hands as he spoke. "We followed them, trusted them, even killed for them, and they deceived us.”

“Has she led you astray?”

“What?”

“Has she led you astray? Has she somehow betrayed you otherwise? Has she not always defended your pathetic cause and fought for the plight of your mages? You are always so busy talking you never _see_ anything.”

Anders grabbed Fenris' arm to force him to stop walking and turn to face him.

“What are you saying?” Anders spat out, attempting to understand.

“Your magic seems now less repulsive to me under the force of your _ignorance_ ," Fenris snarled, shaking the mages hand off of him. "Do you truly not understand why she refused to let you heal her? Do you not see why she kept you from using my lyrium to gain power?”

“You said it was to keep her secret," Anders recalled. "She was afraid she'd be found out—"

“She keeps you from the darkness, apostate," Fenris sneered, pointing a threatening finger in the mage's face. "You, a mage so close to the brink one never knows what the last straw will be that sends Justice loose upon us. Yet it is your soul that she protected — foolish girl that she is. She has proven herself ten times more trustworthy than you who doubts her.”

He turned around and stormed off, unclear even in his own mind as to why he had let the mage make him so angry. Though he was tired and there was a terrible pounding in his head, perhaps it was the fatigue making him testy.

Either way, if he was going to help Hawke stay awake through the wee hours of the morning, he was going to need to find Varric.

* * *

After Fenris managed to locate where Varric had taken Leandra (the Chantry was the only place in Hightown she would go that was still open, since she still refused to go anywhere in Lowtown), he managed to get the fang, assure them both that Hawke was going to be fine, and make his way back toward the Gallows. The apothecary there told him about the same thing as Merrill: that there was no antidote and victims usually died from the shock before the poison actually reached the heart. He did, however, give Fenris a potion that would help her to stay awake for the night. He said it was for stamina and would boost her adrenaline. By the time he made it back to Gamlen's hovel, it was about four hours before first light. Merrill had fallen asleep and Bethany held Hawke on her lap, rocking her back and forth. Sweat poured down the rogues face as she clenched at her heaving chest.

“How is she?” he asked Bethany.

“Peachy,” Hawke grunted. 

“The poison has reached her chest,” Bethany said. “She says it’s worse now.”

“That simply means we are close to the end,” Fenris said as he approached. 

“And how do you know that?” Hawke asked through her clenching teeth.

“I don’t,” he said with a smile, putting his hands on his knees to lean over her. “I suppose I was trying to make you feel better. Did it work?”

“No.”

“Well then, I will practice my condolences for your funeral.”

“I hate you,” she said through a pained smile. “It does make me feel better to finally tell you so.”

“Glad to be of service.” He took a place by the fire and sat with his back against the side of the hearth before turning to Bethany. “You should sleep,” he said.

"I'll sleep when I'm sure she'll be alright.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hawke grunted, patting her sister’s hand. “I have the elf to annoy me awake.”

“Charming,” Fenris added. “Do not worry Bethany. The apothecary gave me something to help keep her awake; it should keep her from succumbing."

“Are you sure?” Bethany asked, obviously aiming the question at Hawke.

“Go,” Hawke advised reassuringly, putting forth great effort to keep the pain out of her face. “I’d wager I will need a massage when this is over, so I will need you rested.”

The girl was reluctant, but also exhausted. She turned her head to Fenris and he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod. She sighed through her nose before conceding, replacing her legs under Hawke’s head with a nearby pillow. 

It wasn’t until Bethany had retreated to her room that Hawke writhed on the floor and clutched at her chest. 

“That bad?” Fenris asked. 

“Maker, it’s like flame in my blood trying to burn me from the inside.”

“Perhaps you are merely weak.”

“What do you know?” She grunted. 

He just cocked an eyebrow at her in response.

“Alright, fine,” she said. “However, you knowing greater pain does not make this pain any less.”

“I will grant you as much,” he said, removing his sword from his side and proceeding to polish the blade. 

"You said the apothecary gave you something?" Hawke asked.

"He did."

"Well? Are you going to give it to me?"

"You seem perfectly awake to me," Fenris said. "He advised me to give it to you only if it looks as if you're falling asleep."

"Perfect," she sneered.

A few moments of silence, filled only by Hawke’s huffing breaths, passed before he spoke again. 

“So,” he said by way of distracting her. “Why pretend to be a man?”

“I’ll tell you what I told Varric," She said, taking pains to breathe steadily. "I am not… _pretending_. I dress like this as a means to remain silent, people just assumed the rest and I never corrected them.”

“Fair enough, I suppose, but why hide it from _us_?”

“I was originally waiting until I knew you all better. When I saw how Anders treats Bethany, opening doors for her, treating her like a child, I thought… I don’t know.”

“You thought you would lose our respect because you are a woman?”

“Something like that. We may be equal in the eyes of the law, but a man would never be afraid of a woman the way he'd be afraid of a man."

"Nonsense," Fenris said with a chuckle. "I was never afraid of you."

"We have already established that you aren't exactly ordinary," she said with an eyebrow raised.

"Well, then. Shall I start calling you milady?”

“Maker, please don’t.”

She laughed, but it was punctuated by ragged coughs. He could feel her gaze on him so he turned his head toward her. 

“Was it very painful?” She asked once he looked at her. “When Danarius marked you?”

“It was,” he said simply, returning his attention to his sword.

She huffed a few pained breaths through her nose. 

“And when they ignite?” she continued. 

“Hmm?”

“When your markings… light up? Do they hurt?”

He exhaled a breath and paused — only briefly — in his cleaning. 

“Every time,” he said.

The moment hung in the air like a guillotine's blade.

“Well, that makes you stupid _and_ weird looking,” she grunted. 

Fenris blinked. “I—what?”

“If it hurts when they light up," she spat, shifting her body uncomfortably, "you should not try to use them on fruitless wounds such as mine.”

He looked at her, baffled, for long moments. “It might have saved your life,” he sneered.

“Well, now we both know that it wouldn't have helped at all.”

“We did not know that at the time, yet your foolish concern for the mage kept us from trying. You thrust your help upon me, unwanted. Yet when I can return the favor you deny it out of fear for the Abomination’s soul.”

She laughed a few, painful, times. “You know not of my reasons,” she said. 

“Am I wrong?”

“No, not entirely,” she admitted, wincing against the pain. “Though, it was more for you than for him.”

“For me?” he spat. “Do not insult me, human.”

“Believe what you want, it makes no difference to me.”

“And how do you figure?” he asked, demanding an answer with his tone.

The pain was less apparent in her face as she chewed on her words, weighing them very carefully.

“Anders is weak,” she admitted. “I know it as well as you. I would rather protect him than see him succumb to Vengeance’s reign and kill us all, true enough. But, as for you, I made a promise.”

“A promise,” he parroted, remembering her saying those exact words in her delirium not hours ago. “You have made no promise to me.”

“Not _to_ you perhaps, but _for_ you, certainly.”

He said nothing, just waited for her to continue. 

Hawke shifted to get more comfortable on the floor, turning to look at him. “You have spoken little of your past but here is what I have managed to gather: Up until three years ago you were a slave to a Magister named Danarius who had considerable magic ability and liked to use it for his nefarious purposes and the occasional bout of blood magic. Good so far?”

“So far.”

“At some point," she continued after clearing her throat, "he took it upon himself to perform the lyrium ritual, carving your markings into your skin, causing extraordinary pain, and granting you borderline supernatural abilities. Correct?”

“I assume there is a point to this?” Fenris groaned.

Hawke chuckled a little, then coughed. “The circumstances are vague," she went on, "but you have been fighting for your freedom lo these three years, never able to stay in the same place for too long, never taking solace in the company of comrades, never being able to relax long enough to settle or belong anywhere…”

“The point, Hawke, get to it.”

“I believe in freedom. For someone who has fought for as long and as hard as you have, I believe you deserve the peace of never being a tool again. You are lending me your arm and your sword, protecting my sister, helping my family; and in return, I promised myself that, at least while you’re one of mine, I will not see you used. Not for your lyrium and certainly not for my sake.”

The silence that filled the room made him uncomfortable, and yet he could not find words. He sat for long moments, watching her settle on the floor as her chest heaved with her breath. That was the moment he realized that he was looking at her face, really looking at it, for the first time. Even with her brow dampened by sweat and her face cringing in pain, it was obvious that she was a beautiful girl.

 _There is no one in Thedas more kind_ , Bethany had said to him. 

“You have a talent for hearing what is not said,” he admitted, mostly to fill the silence. 

She laughed, turning her head on the pillow to look at him. Her copper eyes, once so cold and unfeeling, were oddly warm as they fell on him, reflecting the light of the fire.

“Fenris,” she said softly, a smile creeping across her exhausted face. “Silence is my sharpest weapon.”

It was an odd sensation to hear his name spoken from her. He hadn't realized that he'd never heard her say it until now. If these were, indeed, her true feelings — and not some charade she exercised to bring down his defenses — perhaps she really was too kind for her own good. 

“This kindness of yours,” he said. “It is bound to get you into trouble sooner or later.”

“And what do you suggest?” She began, her eyes half closing. “Donning myself with spikes and treating all as if they are enemies waiting to happen?”

“Perhaps merely forfeiting some of the consideration you give others and keeping it for yourself.”

“When my kindnesses catch up with me," she grunted, shifting again on the uncomfortable ground, "I am confident you will be there to say ‘I told you so’ and pull my ass out of the fire.”

“So I shall,” he said with a smile. “I do love a good ‘I told you so.'”

She laughed through her nose, and her eyes fluttered closed. 

What an odd girl. She was almost two completely different people: the cold, silent killer and the warm, sarcastic sister. The contrast was staggering. He figured that the widely known persona she showed to the world was most likely practiced as a means of survival, rather than how she would like to honestly portray herself. Still, the more and more he learned about her, the more confusing she became. She was frustrating, to be sure. But she had expressed that she was sure that Fenris would be there if she needed him, and that told him that she intended to stay by his side in turn. He wouldn’t necessarily call her a friend, but she might be the closest thing to it he knew.

He kicked her in the stomach. 

“Agh!” she bellowed, her eyes snapping open. “ _What the hell_?”

“Stay awake.”

“That’s it. I’m writing Danarius in the morning and telling him to come and pick up his pet.”

“You must first survive to _see_ morning, Milady.”

“I hate you.”

“It is mutual.”


	10. The Songbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Important author's note: There is music associated with this chapter. It is already queued up on my website, so if you would like the smoothest transition, click the link in the description and read it there. If not, queue up the song "Sleepsong" by Secret Garden on youtube and pause it, then when you see (PLAY!) click play and continue to read while it plays! ^_^ Thanks for playing along! HOpe you enjoy it!**  
>  P.S. This is probably the only song I will put in the story. I might do it again, but I don't have any plans to.

"Do you think this is wise?" Fenris asked as they walked along the wounded coast. "You needn't rush your recovery."

"I spent all of yesterday and the entire evening awake, thanks to your miracle potion, but did nothing," Hawke scoffed from behind her mask. "The expedition is in a week; I haven't the time to bask in my own idleness."

"You're as bad as the elf," Varric said with a sigh. "Now he's going to have to slam you into the floor to get you to take care of yourself."

"I'd like to see him try," Hawke shot back. "Where is it we're going?"

"There's a bunch of Qunari in a cave up here we're supposed to clear out for Javaris," Varric clarified. "Little coward is paying rather well."

"I am as uneasy about the Qunari as the next person," Hawke said. "But I am not so sure about killing an army of the Qun for money. Since when have we become assassins for hire?"

"They are not of the Qun," Fenris clarified. "They are Tal-Vashoth: Qunari who reject the Qun and live as bandits or mercenaries."

"How in the world do you know that?" Anders asked. 

"I know many things," Fenris defended. 

"Well," Hawke said with a shrug, "as long as we aren't going to start a war with the giant, angry horned-men, I suppose I don't have a qualm."

"Yeah," Varric said with a scoff. "Who would be dumb enough to start a war with the Qunari?"

* * *

The party felled the Tal-Vashoth and met Javaris in the Qunari compound, only to find out the dwarf hadn't really made a deal with the Qunari for the explosive powder, and if not for Fenris they might have all ended up with spears through the chest. Despite everything, Varric — sneaky devil that he was — still managed to bleed Javaris for his coin. When they left, they all headed straight for the tavern, very much in need of a stiff drink. 

"I thought for certain when the Arishok said there was no deal that we were about to be gutted like fish," Varric said, throwing himself back into his usual chair. 

Hawke laughed silently, more out of habit than anything.

"Tell me," Anders said in that condescending tone he seemed to reserve solely for Fenris, "how does a slave come upon this... _wealth_ of information about the Qunari?"

"Simple," Fenris sneered in that withering tone he seemed to reserve for... well, the living. "I spend more than a few short hours a day without my head up my—"

"Honestly," Varric interrupted. "It's like you two just _want_ to fight."

"Don't tell me you're not curious," Anders said, cocking an eyebrow in Varric's direction. 

"Of course I'm curious," Varric said with a laugh. "Who do you think you're talking to? I, however, have quite a bit more tact than you."

"That has yet to be seen," Fenris drawled. 

"Keep your secrets then," Varric said, shrugging nonchalantly. 

"Thank you, I shall," Fenris replied, his tone making it clear he had no intention of telling in the first place. 

"And you," Varric said, nodding toward Hawke. "Have you forgotten that you can actually _join_ conversations now?"

"I simply do not like to hear myself talk as much as you do," she replied. 

Fenris snickered into his mug.

"Wow," Varric scoffed, looking around him. "I'm so glad I have made companions of such pricks."

"What is our next step?" Fenris asked, determined to change the subject. His eyes fell on Hawke who was still masked just in case someone were to burst into the room unannounced. 

"With the expedition next week," she replied, "I think it only fair to give you the rest of the week off, no?"

"Maker, I'm glad I'm not going," Anders said, lacing his fingers behind his head. "If I never go into the Deep Roads again, it'll be too soon."

"I will be glad for it to be over," Hawke said with a sigh. "My mother has begun to despair."

"There is little your mother does better than despair," Varric offered. 

"As true as that is," she said, leveling her eyes at him, "I'll thank you to avoid insulting my mother in my presence."

"You say it all the time," Varric said, quirking an eyebrow.

"She's _my_ mother!"

"Fair enough," Varric said with a wave of his hand. 

"It's getting late," Hawke said as she stood. "I should leave before my biggest fans arrive and throw themselves at my feet."

"I'll go with you," Anders said, standing to follow her out. "I'm sure the clinic is buzzing at this hour anyhow."

"Very well," she said, waiting for him by the door. "Though you know I'm perfectly capable of walking myself home, don't you?"

"Obviously," Anders said with a laugh. "I can think of few things more ridiculous than you needing an escort home."

Fenris scoffed as the two exited Varric's room, then took another long pull on his mead. 

"He really does get under your skin, doesn't he?" Varric said, leaning an elbow on the table. 

"I do not know if it is his magic or his stupidity that bothers me more."

"Or his recent closeness with Hawke?" Varric offered. 

Fenris quirked a confused eyebrow.

"Since she's... you know... come out of the closet, so to speak," Varric clarified. 

"Hawke is a homosexual?" Fenris asked.

"What? No. I mean how she and Anders have been getting buddy-buddy since she started talking."

"What about it?"

"That could also be the reason for your anger toward Blondie."

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "Why would Hawke's friendship with the fool mage affect me in anyway?" 

"How is it," Varric began, exhaling a frustrated breath, "that you can spend so much time with _me_ and still have the conversational skills of a monkey?"

"Funny," Fenris replied, taking a drink of his mead. "I was about to ask you the same question."

* * *

"Where is it we're going at this hour?" Fenris asked, meeting Varric outside of the Hanged Man.

"To get Hawke," he said, heading in the direction of Gamlen’s hovel. "I've been contacted by an anonymous source saying they're in need of our... special set of skills."

"And they only operate in the dead of night? I'm sure this won't go horribly wrong."

"Thank you, Freddy Foreshadowing," Varric said, rolling his eyes. "In all honesty, I'm surprised Hawke isn't here yet. Blondie's always late, but Hawke?"

"I'm sure she is fine," Fenris said with an exhale. 

As they ascended the steps to Gamlen's hovel, they could hear the tell-tale sound of arguing. 

"You call this looking out for us?" Leandra was sneering. "Trouncing around in the shadows and getting yourself killed?"

"I know what I'm doing, Mother," Hawke said with a sigh. "My trouncing around is what is keeping us all fed."

"It is insanity like this that killed Carver!"

Silence. 

"And what do you call this?" Leandra continued. "This... _trove_ of sovereigns you've been hiding from us?"

"Mother," Bethany defended, "that is for the expedition that will get us your family home back!"

"I know you're upset about this... Orlesian, Mother," Hawke continued, "but I promise you we will get your home back. You just have to have a little faith."

There were a few moments of tense silence before Leandra sighed. 

"I'm sorry, girls," she said sadly. "I just... I hate it here."

"We know, Mother," Bethany said. "You need to sleep. When was the last time you slept soundly?"

"Not since Carver," Leandra sighed. "My little boy."

"We should not be here," Fenris whispered urgently into Varric's ear. 

"It's winding down," Varric said, waving Fenris away.

(Play!)

"Do you want us to sing father's song, mother?" Bethany asked. 

"I am already late," Hawke began to protest. 

"Please," Leandra sighed. "I... it's been a very long time since you girls sang for me."

Fenris could hear Hawke sighing in resignation, though whatever it was he'd anticipated, neither he —nor Varric— were prepared for what actually happened. He knew somewhere in his mind that it was Hawke singing; he just didn't know if he could believe it.

_Lay down your head and I’ll sing you a lullaby_  
Back to the years of lu-li-lai-lay  
And I’ll sing you to sleep,  
And I’ll sing you tomorrow,  
Bless you with love for the road that you go. 

_May you sail fair to the far fields of fortune_  
With diamonds and pearls at your head, at your feet  
And may you need never to banish misfortune  
May you find kindness in all that you meet. 

_May there always be angels to watch over you_  
To guide you each step of the way  
To guide you and keep you safe from all harm  
Lu-li lu-li-lai-lay 

Hawke was singing, but Bethany would offer up her voice on the chorus, giving Hawke a perfect harmony. Hawke's voice had a beautiful, ethereal tone to it. It sounded like the longing lament of a trapped spirit, light and melodic. Fenris realized his hands had turned to fists as if it could counteract the deep ache he felt within his chest. He looked up at the night sky as if there would be answers there, as if it would tell him why this intolerable feeling had crept inside of him. An odd emotion was stirring in him and he didn’t have enough experience to understand it or know how to react to it. He looked down at Varric and could tell the dwarf was having a similar experience. The dwarf's brows here furrowed, almost as if he were angered.

_May you bring love and may you bring happiness_  
Be loved in return, till the end of your days  
Now fall off to sleep, I’m not meaning to keep you  
I’ll just sit for a while and sing lu-li-lai-lay 

_May there always be angels to watch over you_  
To guide you each step of the way  
To guide you, and keep you, safe from all harm  
Lu-li lu-li-lai-lay 

_Lu-li lu-li-lai-lay_

"You were right," Varric cursed, turning on his heel. "We shouldn't be here."

There was some shuffling within the hovel before Hawke quietly snuck out the front door and onto the platform of the stairs, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw Varric and Fenris below her. Her eyes widened in shock before narrowing into angry slits. Even with her mask and hood, Fenris could tell that their faces gave them away.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered harshly.

"You were late," Varric said quickly as if that justified their eavesdropping. "We came to get you."

She pointed a finger into his face. "Never speak of this to anyone," she spat.

Varric held his hands up in surrender.

"Same goes for you," she sneered, pointing at Fenris. 

Fenris nodded twice, hands behind his back. 

"Come on," she said turning to head to Darktown. "We need to find Anders."

None of them spoke a word until they arrived at Anders' clinic. Varric snuck into the clinic to wake Anders, leaving Fenris and Hawke outside in awkward silence. 

"So, I'm just supposed to pretend it never happened, right?" Fenris asked.

"If you value your life, then yes," she replied. 

He fought the smirk spreading across his face. "I'm finding it more impossible the harder I try."

"Try harder," she demanded.

"You know," he said, rocking back on his heels with his hands behind his back. "When you first told me your name, I thought it was a rather ironic name for you to have."

"I know," she said. "Because it is a mage's name."

"It is?" he asked.

She turned confused eyes onto him. "Yes," she said. "My father named me after a famous mage from the Imperium."

"Is that so?" Fenris asked, his smirk spreading into a grin. "I did not know that."

"How could you not know? Why else would my name be ironic?"

"Well, I found it ironic at the time because I'd never heard you speak, much less sing," he said. "But 'anara' in Tevene is the word we use for... I don't think there is another word for it. It's what we call the melody of a songbird in Tevinter. A nightingale sings her _anara_ in the twilight hours, for example."

Her eyes narrowed in response.

He leaned forward, smiling. "I find now that your name is rather appropriate."

"I hate you."

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Varric said, waving a hand. "You want us to escort a renegade Qunari mage out of the city? Why. What do you care about this... Katojan?"

"Look at this poor creature," Sister Petrice said, motioning to him. "Does he not deserve the chance? Would you return him to his brutal kin?"

"How do you know freedom is what he wants?" Fenris asked, sinking back on a hip and crossing his arms.

Varric, Anders, and Hawke all turned confused gazes on him. 

"You of all people—" Anders began. 

"The Qunari do not operate under the same laws as the rest of us," Fenris clarified. "A mage in the Qunari are bound in order to serve the Qun. It is their way, who are we to interfere?"

"The point is moot," Petrice countered. "He has already fled, and his people will kill him regardless. His choices now are death by the hands of his people, or a tortured freedom."

Hawke approached the Qunari, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to the side, trying to see anything telling about him. Did he want freedom, or was he playing along because following was all he knew? She looked over at Fenris. He exhaled and shrugged his shoulders, telling her that he was just as unclear as to the right thing to do as she was. 

She considered for a long moment before turning her gaze to Varric and nodding at him, letting him know they could take the job. If the Qunari wanted freedom, they would help him have it. If he didn't, well then he could go back after they got him out of the city. She turned and nodded again before opening up the basement hatch and jumping down. Anders was the next one to follow her down, then the Qunari, then Fenris, and finally Varric. When they were out of earshot from Sister Petrice Hawke finally spoke up.

"So, what, he'll just follow us?" she said, anxiously eyeing the huge bound Qunari. 

"That is his way," Fenris said. "It is in his nature to be led."

"Well, how will we know what he really wants, then?" she asked. "How do we do the right thing?"

"They do not know want," Fenris said. "They are taught only to serve the Qun."

"Why don't they fight back?" Anders asked. "How can they just accept being bound and tortured like this?"

"They do not know any better," Fenris said, softer, almost self-conscious. "They do not understand that there is anything else."

"Is this more of your mysterious Qunari knowledge?" Anders asked. "Or are you speaking from personal experience?"

"I know that blind instinct, if that is what you're asking," Fenris growled. "I know what it is like for your first, second, and third action to be obedience."

"Could have fooled me," Anders said under his breath.

"Yes," Fenris added. "I'd wager there is no simpler task in all of Thedas than fooling the likes of you."

"Remember when we had peaceful missions?" Varric mused aloud.

"Peaceful, no." Hawke sighed. "Quiet, though. I remember the _quiet_ missions."


	11. The Expedition

Fenris rolled out his shoulders as he prepared himself to march into the Deep Roads, finding himself tense at the prospect of not knowing what they were to find down there. He spared a moment to be grateful that Anders, upon the mage’s own request, was staying behind.

“I do not envy you,” Anders said, shaking Varric’s hand. “If I never go into the Deep Road’s again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Don’t worry yourself over it, Blondie.”

“Thank you, Anders,” Hawke said, shaking his hand. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Yes, yes. Just hurry back, will you? Then you can all buy me drinks with your newfound riches.”

“I will do no such thing,” Fenris added.

“Obviously,” Bethany said with a tilt of her head and an elbow in Fenris’ side. 

“Bethany!” a voice shrieked from across the courtyard. Bethany and Hawke both winced as Leandra came barreling toward them. “Thank goodness I found you in time.”

“Mother,” Bethany said. “Is everything alright?”

“No, everything is not alright! I just heard that everyone thinks your sister is a _man_.”

“Quiet yourself, woman,” Hawke whispered harshly, pulling their mother over to their group. “That rumor exists for a reason.”

“Honestly, Anara,” Leandra said, putting her fists on her hips. “How am I ever going to find you a suitable husband if all of Thedas thinks you’re a man?”

Fenris and Varric tried to stifle their laughter.

Hawke threw them an icy look just briefly enough to shut them up. 

“Mother, that secret has served us well in keeping us safe and out of the sight of the Templars. You would do well to keep it a so.”

“Honestly, that’s completely ridiculous.”

“She’s right, Mother,” Bethany added. “Haven’t you ever wondered how we can live in the poorest part of town and not once have our home invaded or our things stolen?”

“Fine, fine, you insufferable girls, but I am not happy about it.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Hawke said softly. “Was that all you wanted to bring up?”

“Of course not,” Leandra sneered, her arms flailing. “You think I came all the way up here about your cross-dressing fetish? I’m here for Bethany; you can’t take her down into the bowels of the Earth with you.”

“What?” Bethany said. “Mother, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I am not being ridiculous, Bethany.” She turned back to Hawke. “You, I understand. I always thought you’d throw your life away on some ridiculous adventure too risky for your own good, but you need not risk _Bethany’s_ life to do so. Do not drag her down to hell with you. I will not lose you both.”

Fenris saw the hurt flash across Hawke’s eyes and found he disliked Leandra a little more with every encounter he had with the woman. 

“She is not _dragging me_ , Mother. I want to go!”

“If she stays,” Hawke said softly, almost more to herself than to anyone else, “I won’t be here to keep her safe.” Her eyes rose back to her mother’s. “If she comes with me, I can protect her.”

“You call dragging her through an army of darkspawn and Maker-knows-what-else keeping her safe? No. She stays with me. She has been perfectly safe up until this point and she can stay safe up here.”

“Mother!” Bethany began to protest.

“She’s right, Beth,” Hawke said, the defeat she felt obvious in her posture. “You need to stay here.”

“No,” she said. “Nara, don’t do this. I’m coming with you.”

“If you come with me, who will take care of our mother? Gamlen? No, we both know better. You have to stay here and take care of her for me.”

“VARRIC,” Bartrand bellowed. “Are you and your freakshow coming or what?”

“Yes, your shouting-ness,” Varric groaned. “We will be right there.”

Hawke quickly wrapped Bethany in a hug. “Stay out of sight, and keep Mother safe. I will be back before you know it.”

“I swear to the Maker: if you get sliced open again, I will kill you myself.”

Hawke released her sister and watched as what was left of her family slowly headed out of the courtyard. 

“I’ll go,” Anders said with a sad exhale, moving to stand at Hawke’s side. “You’re going to need me now, anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Anders,” Hawke said softly.

 _Not as sorry as I am,_ Fenris thought.

* * *

“It looks like magic,” Anders said, observing the idol Varric was handling. “And not the good kind.”

“There _is_ no good kind,” Fenris added. 

“Shut up, Fenris.”

Hawke was listening to the bickering between the two, but her eyes lingered on Bartrand. Varric tossed him the idol and an odd light had left Bartrand’s eyes, his voice suddenly an eerie monotone. Once she realized he was shutting the door behind him, she leapt onto the railing of the stairs and slid down, but she didn’t make it in time: the door was blocked from the other side. She should have seen it coming, damn her. Bartrand always rubbed her the wrong way, but she thought at least having Varric with her would ensure they didn’t get royally screwed. 

So much for her best laid plans.

“Are you joking?” Varric shouted, slamming his fists into the stone door so hard he bruised his hands. “You’re going to screw over your own brother… for what, some lousy idol?”

“Not just the idol,” Bartrand spat from the other side of the large door. “The location of this place alone is worth a fortune. A fortune I refuse to split _three ways._ ”

“Bartrand,” Varric shouted, slamming his fists into the door again and again. “BARTRAND!”

“Varric,” Hawke interrupted, taking down her mask. “Calm down.”

“I swear,” he said, continuing to hit the door. “I will find that son of a bitch – sorry, Mother – and I will _kill_ him!”

Hawke grabbed Varric’s wrists, forcing him to stop pounding and turned him toward her.

“Varric, no one is denying that your brother is a weasel and that we would all like to see him splayed in a pool of his own blood, but right now we need to find a way out of here before we all starve.”

“We would dehydrate long before we would starve,” Fenris offered.

“Helpful,” Anders spat. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hawke said, by way of interrupting, “my point remains valid.” She released Varric’s wrists and stood to look at the room. “Spread out. We need to find a door. I’ve never met a door I couldn’t open.”

“Oh? And what about _that_ door,” Anders said, motioning his head at the one Bartrand had locked them behind.

“Well, doors with large stone latches barring the other side notwithstanding. I suppose I should have said I’ve never met a _lock_ I couldn’t open.”

“Ah, yes. That does make more sense.”

They spread out to look for another way out of the room, and as they searched, Hawke felt that familiar panic rising in her chest and making the tips of her fingers tingle. She had to get out of here. They had already been on this fool’s errand for three weeks, trudging through the dark and ankles deep in muck. Bethany was of the surface, completely unprotected from those that would incarcerate her, or worse. What would happen if she got hurt? Or killed? Or taken by the Templars? How would Hawke even know? Hawke shivered at the thought. She couldn’t be thinking like this, she had to concentrate.

“Hawke,” Fenris said, snapping her out of her thoughts. “I think I’ve found something.”

She went to stand behind him, observing the large wooden slab that appeared to be a door. 

“It looks like it has a locking mechanism,” Hawke said, starting to dig in her pack for her lockpicks. “If I can manipulate it, I can probably—”

She was interrupted by the large _CRACK_ of Fenris putting his foot through the door. Freezing with her lockpick in her hand, she slowly moved her head too look at Fenris in stunned silence. A smile was tugging at the corners of his lips as he reached through the new whole in the door and unlocked it from the other side. 

“Subtle,” Varric said.

“We haven’t time for subtleties,” Fenris said as the lock clicked and he pushed the door open. “I imagine Hawke would like to get back to her family.”

“Even so,” Hawke said, putting her lockpicks away with a smile, “a warning wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Shall I narrate everything I do?” he asked with a sarcastic eyebrow cocked. “Very well, I am going to step through the door now.”

“Yeah, okay, smart ass,” she replied as she pulled her mask on. 

“Well,” Anders added. “At least one part of him is smart.”

“Which is one more than we can say for you, fool mage.”

“Mommy, Daddy,” Varric drawled. “Stop fighting. You’re ruining my birthday.”

* * *

After Hawke refused to oblige the hunger demon and they had finished defeating his legions of rock wraiths, she dusted off her legs and strapped her daggers back on her back. 

“That was a good decision,” Anders said, going to her side. “Obliging demons never leads anywhere good.”

“Would that you could follow your own advice,” Fenris said, shoulder-checking the mage as he passed. 

“Exactly my point,” Anders defended, scowling after the elf. 

“So,” Fenris said over his shoulder, “your point is that you make poor decisions, then?”

“I—no.”

“Oh, you two certainly go on,” Hawke said as she made her way passed them. 

“This… creature the demon warned about,” Varric said, falling in step with Hawke. “What do you think it is?”

“Nothing we can’t handle, I’m sure,” she said. “After all, we’ve fought golems, demons, and even another dragon matron; and no one has ended up sliced open. What more could there possibly be?”

They heard a rumbling from behind them and turned to see a _massive_ ancient rock wraith forming behind them. All four of them stared up at it with mouths open and eyes wide. 

“You were saying?” Fenris said softly.

“ **Move** ,” Hawke commanded. 

They dove out of the way and began their assault on the thing, but it became more of a marathon than a sprint. They needed to continually shield themselves behind the large pillars scattered about the room which, while being welcome breaks from the action, was wasting time they didn’t have. 

“Maker,” Anders said, falling onto a knee behind one of the pillars and using his staff for support. “How does one even go about defeating an ancient rock wraith?”

“I can tell you how you don’t defeat it,” Hawke said between huffs. “By stabbing it.”

“Quit your despairing,” Fenris spat, “we are wearing it down. We must persevere.” With that, he turned and sprinted around the pillar to re-engage the beast. 

There had to be a better way. As Hawke slashed this way and that, trying to make small chinks on the inner husk of the wraith, her strength was quickly waning. She tried to scramble back into cover, but she lost her footing and face-planted into the rocky ground. Iron hands gripped the back of her shoulders and just managed to pull her back behind the pillar in time. 

Fenris slammed her back against the pillar and braced against it with an arm on either side of her head as the world around them surged crimson and exploded. 

“Foolish girl,” he cursed at her, his emerald eyes bright and seething. “Keep your wits about you.”

That was all he said before he barreled around the pillar once again, roaring against the effort the swing of his sword took. Hawke tried to catch her breath, but she could see Varric was running short on arrows and even Anders was running out of will. Something had to be done.

Fenris came back behind the pillar to brace against another explosion and Hawke grabbed him by his chest armor.

“Can you throw me?” she asked.

“What?”

“Throw me, Elf,” she repeated, pulling down her mask. “Can you throw me onto the wraith?”

“Has your exhaustion driven you _mad_ , woman?”

“If you can throw me high enough before it closes up again, I think I can take it down.”

“And if you cannot?” he asked, the words coming out through his teeth.

She thought about that for a moment. “Do you have any better ideas?”

“We can take it down if we keep at it,” he said. 

“Fenris,” she said, moving her hands onto his shoulders. “I can do this.”

He exhaled through his nose and nodded at her. They both started to chip away at the wraith again until it began the ritual anew. Together they started to back away and Fenris turned to watch her. She grabbed his arm. 

“If this doesn’t work—” she began.

“It will,” he assured her, silently hoping the wraith wasn’t about to make a liar of him.

She didn’t protest, just kept going until her back hit the far wall.

Her speed never ceased to surprise him, and now he was seeing it from a whole new perspective as she barreled toward him. Fenris set his stance wide and lowered his center of gravity, lacing his fingers into a foothold between his legs. Once she was in position, she jumped, placing her foot square in his hands. With a roar of effort, he lifted her over his head and threw her back toward the wraith. Perhaps a smarter man would have retreated into cover as a precaution if the plan failed, but Fenris simply turned and watched her soar through the air toward their target.

She reeled both daggers back behind her head, her feet tucking back behind her and arching her back as far as she could. When she landed on the wraith, she scrambled up to its core and plunged both her daggers, like fangs, into its glowing red core. 

It wailed and shook with pain, and she reeled her blades back and sank them into the tender core again, hoping it would be enough to make it drop. The wraith quaked under her feet, and she managed to see Varric through the glow shouting at her. She couldn’t hear him over the rumbling and screeching of the wraith, and she held on as it started to thrash. As she tried to brace against the red core, it cracked and chipped away making a bright red light pour through. 

“Shit,” Hawke cursed, figuring Varric must have been trying to tell her to get away. She got to her feet but before she could jump clear, it exploded in a giant haze of crimson and white. She was sent flying into one of the pillars before falling limp onto the stone floor. Shards of rock and dust rained down around the party. Fenris and Varric ran to Hawke while Anders stared, mouth agape, at the spot where the wraith had been.

“Andraste’s light,” Anders said to himself. 

“That… didn’t feel good,” Hawke mumbled as Varric helped her to stand.

“Maker’s breath, Hawke! That was fantastic,” the dwarf crowed.

“Foolish,” Fenris said, crossing his arms. “But… effective.”

“Was that… a compliment?” she asked, slurring her words and sporting a goofy grin. She swayed back and forth as Fenris watched her eyes trying to focus on his face. 

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh, good,” she said, reaching down to steady herself on Varric’s shoulders. “You should avoid being nice to me… you’ll give me a complex.”

“Are you… well?” he asked, putting a firm hand on her shoulder in an attempt to steady her. 

“Yeah, Hawke, you’re not looking so good,” Varric added. 

“I’d… like to see what _you_ look like after being launched… from the back of an ancient rock wraith into a damn… _wall_!”

“A fair point,” Varric conceded. “Lord, this will make a good story.”

She didn’t say anything, just pressed her palm against her forehead. 

“You won’t even need any of your usual exaggeration for this one,” Anders added. 

“Blondie, I’m surprised at you,” Varric said.“Every story needs exaggerating. For one thing, Hawke won’t be such a right mess afterward in my version.”

She brandished a finger at him, but in the wrong direction. “You know,” she slurred, “if I didn’t see two of you right now, I’d punch your stupid face.”

“Well,” he said with a laugh. “Thank the Maker for small miracles, I guess.”

Then she fainted.

* * *

Fenris couldn’t help but laugh as he watched Varric and Hawke, arms linked together, dancing around in circles with a sack of gold hefted over each of their shoulders. They danced and sang a jaunty tune as they made their way into the sunlight. 

__

“Hey Ho! To the bottle I go.  
To heal my heart and drown my woe.  
Rain may fall and wind may blow.  
But there still be many miles to go.  
Sweet is the sound of pouring rain.  
And the stream that falls from hill to plain.  
Better than coin or polished brass. 

“Is my steel boot up Bartrand’s ass!”

Varric took the last line upon himself in an impromptu rhyme that buckled the pair of rogues over in giddy laughter. Anders and Fenris shared a glance, as close to smiling at each other as they had ever come. And, like two parents observing their silly children, there was a unique feeling of camaraderie between the two as they realized they were united by something greater than themselves. 

They had been trapped in the bowls of darkspawn territory, faced an impossible threat, and came out not only breathing, but richer than any of them had ever been. They did not have to like each other, but Anders had healed Fenris in times of need regardless. In turn Fenris had protected him when _that_ need arose…

…And they were both fighting against the fact that they were becoming rather fond of not wandering through the world alone anymore.


	12. The Homecoming

They were a merry party during the week long journey back to Kirkwall, hefting more gold and trinkets than any of them had ever seen in one place. They were exhausted by the time they got back into the city, but that didn’t stop them from planning a huge celebration. They stopped by Gamlen’s house first, as Hawke was eager to deliver the good news to her family. She and Varric bounded up the stairs, both overflowing with excitement to crow their success. Anders and Fenris followed at a much more relaxed pace, but froze when they heard an unfamiliar voice echo from the hovel.

“Stay where you are,” a man’s voice bellowed. 

Fenris and Anders hurried to the top of the stairs, their blood going cold when they saw the four Templars standing in the front room. Fenris quickly shoved Anders hard in the shoulder, sending the mage tumbling over the edge of the platform and plummeting into the dusty street. Fenris heard the mage cursing as he got back to his feet, but he knew well Fenris had done it to get him out of sight of the Templars, so he simply slinked around the corner and out of sight. 

“Please,” Bethany pleaded, pulling against the two Templars restraining her by the arms. “Don’t… don’t do anything.”

“No…” Hawke whispered to herself, so softly Fenris knew he was the only one to hear it. 

“Mistress _Bethany_ is being _taken_ to the _Circle_ of Magi in the _Gallows_ ," Cullen spat. Every word he accented made Hawke flinch like the words were physically hurting her. 

“You can’t take her!” Leandra bellowed, growing frantic. “My little girl in the Gallows. You can't do it!”

“Consider yourselves fortunate,” the Templar threatened. “Her cooperation allows us to spare you the punishment for harboring a dangerous mage… this once.”

Fenris saw that Hawke had gone completely rigid and her hands had turned into gloved, shivering fists. Her shoulders heaved as she started to panic, and she slowly slid one of her hands up her back, intending to fight their way out. Fenris caught her on the wrist and her head snapped to the side to look at him, fiery defiance welling up in her eyes. If she could have lit him on fire with her eyes alone, Fenris knew she would have.

It struck something in Fenris, to see her this way just after witnessing what a jovial, warm woman she had just been. He shook his head slowly and hoped that it conveyed that he was sorry. “Be calm,” he whispered to her, lowering her hand back to her side, “for Bethany.”

Hawke's posture sank as she turned back to look at her sister, sadness filling her as she began to understand that there was no getting out of this.

“Messer Hawke has just come back from a heroic journey into the Deep Roads, Master Cullen,” Varric interrupted with a bow. “Surely you can see how this would be distressing, and might allow them a moment to say their goodbyes?”

The Templar narrowed his eyes, but motioned his head to signal the other Templars to leave. “Very well," he said as he headed to the door, "you have two minutes, Varric.” 

Hawke ignored him, pushing her way through to wrap her sister tight in her arms. 

“Consider my debt paid, dwarf,” Cullen uttered softly, leaning down so only Varric would hear, but obviously underestimating Fenris' sharp hearing. 

“Done,” Varric mumbled, making sure to close the door behind the Templar as he left. 

Hawke pulled away from the hug to lower her hood and mask before putting a hand on either side of Bethany’s face.

"We can run," Hawke offered, a desperation in her tone. "You can take mother and we will hold them off and we can—"

"No," Bethany interrupted, biting back tears. "You know there's nowhere for us to go. They would catch us before we even left the city. Where would we stay?"

"I don't care," Hawke pleaded. "I don't care if we live in a box in the woods, I will run with you."

"No," Bethany said, shaking her head. "No, I knew this was coming. It... it's time, Anara."

Hawke clenched her jaw and let her breath out through her teeth, squeezing Bethany's shoulders harder than she probably should have. “Remember what Father said," she instructed, her voice cracking under the force of her sadness. "They will put you through the Harrowing immediately. Concentrate, breathe, and take your time. Do not rush yourself and do not let them see how powerful you are.”

Bethany nodded as tears fell down her cheeks. She lifted her hands to hold press Hawke's hands against her face as they rested their foreheads against each other. 

“If they force you to fail, fight. Fight with everything you have. I will find you, and I will protect you, do you understand? I will not let them make you tranquil, Beth. I will kill each and every one of them before I let them have you.”

Bethany nodded again, keeping her forehead pressed to Hawke’s, her chin quivering as she tried desperately not to cry. 

“I’m so sorry,” Hawke said softly, closing her eyes, her shoulders shivering. “I’m so, so sorry, Bethany.”

“Don’t do that, Nara,” Bethany snapped, forcing Hawke to look at her. “This isn’t your fault. I know that, you know that. I don’t care what anyone says, you could not have foreseen this. I will be strong. I will send you word when the Harrowing is completed." They wrapped each other in their arms again and stayed that way for a long, silent moment. "Take care of mother, ‘Nara. Take care of her for me.”

“I will. I promise.” Hawke put a kiss on her sister’s forehead before meeting her eyes again. “Know this, and damn me, let the Maker know it too: they cannot keep me from you. You know that, don’t you? They cannot keep out a shadow.”

“True enough,” Bethany said, sniffling and braving a smile. “Then you will come and see me?”

“Every month, at the very least, if it's the last thing I do.”

Three bangs on the front door interrupted them. 

Hawke released Bethany so that Leandra could wrap the mage in her arms. Their mother cried, sobbed into Bethany's shoulder, wailed about how it wasn't fair and that Bethany would always be her little girl. Bethany told her to be strong, and told her to come and visit whenever she could. She kissed her mother on the head and turned to walk toward the door, squeezing Hawke's hand as she did. Leandra fell onto her knees as if her sorrow were physical weight on her shoulders. Hawke went to her side, kneeling and wrapping her in her arms to try and console her. 

Bethany looked at the two companions guarding the door: the dwarf and the elf. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around Varric, and he returned the gesture and braved his usual easy smile. He didn't want her to feel any worse, and so he tried to look unaffected, and failed.

“I’ll miss you, Varric,” she said. 

“I miss you already, Sunshine.”

“I’m glad,” Bethany said, standing and putting one hand on Fenris’ shoulder and the other on Varric’s, “that she will have friends. Take care of her for me." 

“It's a promise, Sunshine,” Varric said, trying to sound upbeat. 

Fenris, despite not wanting to, nodded at the girl. He didn’t know what she meant by ‘taking care of Hawke,' since he knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. He nodded at her anyway, knowing that is was simply an assurance needed by a girl about to be taken from her family. 

She pulled them both into a hug and Varric wrapped an arm around her waist. Fenris tensed, pinning his arms to his side. Her proximity made his markings prickle with electricity, and the feeling was uncomfortable. As Bethany hugged them, Fenris looked over her shoulder at Hawke trying to console her mother. He'd become rather used to being able to read the rogue's eyes, but he'd never seen them so full of grief, so bereaved. He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach.

“You are a strong mage, Bethany,” Fenris said as softly as he could muster. “I believe you will succeed.”

Bethany pulled away from the hug and gave him an odd look, on he couldn't quite identify. He wondered briefly if he had said something offensive, and was relieved to see a smile creep across the mage's face. 

“You are a good man, Fenris,” Bethany said. “Trust my sister. She will help you find your place.”

Fenris looked at her and knew she could see the confusion plainly on his face, but she just smiled. She opened the door, turning around to look back at her family one last time, just as the Templars rushed to grip her by the shoulders and lead her away.

Fenris turned to see Hawke staring out the door. The orange of her iris overtaking the gold as her rage burned through her. For a moment Fenris thought she might actually burst through the door, daggers in her hands, tearing down anyone who stood between her and Bethany.

“How could you let this happen?” Leandra bellowed, clinging to Hawke's vest. “How could you go on that ridiculous expedition and leave us all alone?"

“I—I’m sorry,” Hawke said, the anger in her face quickly succumbing to her guilt. She tightened her grip around Leandra, holding her close and letting her cry. “I’m so sorry, Mother.”

"My little girl," Leandra wailed. "First Carver, now Buh... Buh..." A few more forlorn sobs later, Leandra pushed herself away from Hawke, pointing an accusing finger up at her eldest child. "You! This is all _your_ fault," she sneered.

Hawke put her hands up defensively, starting to back away. "I wanted to bring her with me," she defended. "I wanted to take her where I could protect her!"

"Better the gallows than the _afterlife_ ," Leandra spat. "You shouldn't have gone! You should have stayed where you could have protected her!"

"I'm sorry," Hawke pleaded, her voice cracking. "I... I'm sorry."

Fenris narrowed his eyes and felt himself getting angry, regardless that he knew well that this was none of his affair. He and Hawke were not even what he would call friends, but he respected her more than anyone else he’d known and she deserved better than this. Leandra had just lost a child to the Gallow's; Fenris didn't pretend to know how that felt or how the process of grief would be for her. He tried to allow her sympathy, but he found none as he looked at the hurt in Hawke's face. 

“Get out!” Leandra screeched. “Get out of here, wretched girl! I don’t want to look at you!”

Hawke closed her eyes, and donned her hood and mask before turning away, a cold, eerie calm coming over her features. "As you wish," she said softly, walking toward the door. "Protect my share, Varric," she said, pushing her way out of Gamlen's hovel.

"You got it, Hawke," Varric said, making a stalwart attempt to keep his emotions out of his face.

"I'll come back for it tonight," Hawke said, stepping out of the door.

“Where will you go?” the dwarf asked.

“Running." 

She went out the door and jumped over the ledge, landing in the dirt without a sound. Fenris followed to look over the ledge and watch her sprint down the dirt path of Lowtown toward the sea, running faster than he had ever seen her. A trail of dust — kicked up by her furious feet — was all that was left of her as she disappeared into the sunlit horizon. 

Fenris turned to look back at Varric, exhaling through his nose. Varric shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. They were both frustrated by their powerlessness: Varric, unable to make light of the situation, and Fenris unable to stop it in the first place. It was infuriating, and they both knew there was nothing they could do to make it right again.

* * *

Hawke ran. She ran and ran. It was her first, last, and only line of defense in moments like this; moments of despair. 

She never had the magic her father and sister did, nor did she possess Carver's raw strength, but she had always been fast. Her whole life people wondered at her speed and entertained rumors of how she had come to be as fast as she was, but there were no supernatural gods at work here; she was simply blessed with quick feet. 

Her only blessing, it would seem, as she was good at little else. 

So when her thoughts turned to feelings and her feelings turned to weight, she ran. It was all she could do to swallow down doubt, or shame, or tears. Her father used to tell her that tears were worthless because they never solved anything. So Hawke would never cry; she wouldn't allow it. She had promised her father she would be strong. She had promised Carver...

... She had promised Bethany.

Her eyes stung as she fought down the tears. Commanding herself not to let them surface. Keep running. One foot after the other, just like always. She ran until everything was a blur. She picked a direction and just ran in it until the landscape forced her to turn. Then she would adapt, but she would always keep running. 

_Keep running_ , she demanded. _Run until you are too tired to be sad. Run until you forget. Run until the anger is gone and the burn becomes unbearable. Just run._

* * *

Varric, Fenris, and Anders all agreed that the Hanged Man was no place to stash piles of gold. Anders wouldn't be able to keep it safe down in the belly of the Undercity, so it was decided that Fenris' mansion would just have to do until Varric could get in touch with his fences. Anders had long figured out what happened with the Templars in the house, which was good since neither Varric nor Fenris felt like retelling it. As they walked through the darkened streets of Hightown, it was Fenris who finally broke the silence. 

"Is she always like that?"

"Yes," Varric said with a scoff. "I've never been clear on why, but whenever I've seen them together, Leandra's never been nice to Hawke."

"Er, no," Fenris corrected. "I meant Hawke and the running."

"Oh," Varric said, clearing his throat awkwardly. He would kick himself later for jumping to conclusions and giving away what he'd been thinking. "I couldn't tell you, White Lightning. It's the first time I've really seen her get upset."

"You've known each other for a long time," Anders added. "In that time she's never gotten upset?"

"You heard me, Blondie. I've never seen her be anything but full of laughter and sarcasm." He thought better of his words, so he clarified. "I mean, when she isn't doing that whole 'I-am-Hawke-mysterious-killer-of-the-night' routine."

"I suppose she's had a lot to worry about since she moved here," Anders said. "I don't think she's had time to get upset about anything."

"Or," Fenris added, "it simply takes something of this magnitude to truly upset her."

"Now that I think about it," Varric said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Sunshine had said something to me about it... months ago. We were both a little drunk at the time so it's a little fuzzy." He paused for a few moments as he tried to put the pieces back together. "Bah, I can't remember the details. It was something about wishing that Hawke didn't bottle it up all the time, or that she would share some of the burden. I don't remember the specific event that had brought it up in the first place, though."

Silence settled over the trio again as they walked. Fenris looked off to the side as they continued to the mansion; seemingly deep in thought. As far as Varric could tell the elf could have easily been pondering about how lovely the bare trees looked in winter or some other ridiculous thing. The elf was hard to read, even for Varric. 

The dwarf found that he was more annoyed by it than usual.

* * *

Varric was half passed drunk by the time Hawke had finished running. She went to the Hanged Man, knowing full well that was where she would find him, and tried to get him to tell her what he had done with their treasure. It was harder than anticipated since Varric didn't seem to be his usual silly, boisterous drunk, and instead was rather angry and impenetrable. With no small amount of coercion, she eventually got the information she came for and left the dwarf to his delirium. 

She silently made her way through Hightown, staring furious, icy gazes at any stragglers that might look at her twice or question who she was. She usually travelled out of sight in the evening hours to avoid ignorant men who wanted to test the mighty Hawk's strength, but she was too tired tonight, and hoped her shadowy appearance and sharp eyes were enough to keep them at bay. She was ready to collapse by the time she got to the mansion. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you use the door," Fenris said, leaning on the railing of the main room stairs and looking down at her.

She said nothing, just gave him a half-hearted laugh in reply as she took off her mask and hood. 

"This way," he said, pushing off the railing and going to the room on the right of the master bedroom. "I've locked your share in here."

He leaned on the doorframe as she made her way to the top of the stairs, dragging her feet as she did. She jiggled the door handle only to find that it was locked.

"They key?" she asked, holding her hand out expectantly. 

"With Varric."

Hawke groaned and rubbed her eyes as if that was going to make her headache — or her frustration — go away. "I will kill that tiny menace one day, mark my words." She sighed and removed her lockpicks from her pocket, making quick work of the lock. When it finally clicked open she stumbled through the doorway, almost losing her footing. She caught herself on the far wall and shook her head out, demanding she get her act together before making her way to the back of the room. She crouched down onto the balls of her feet, running her eyes over the several bags of treasure, but not moving otherwise.

"Where did you go?" Fenris asked, mostly to break the silence. "When you ran, I mean."

"Across the docks, up the Wounded Coast cliff, then circled around the coast until I found myself back at the Lowtown gate."

"That's... quite a distance. Yet you ran it in only a few hours?"

"It helps settle the mind."

"I will... remember that."

Again, the silence took over, but still Hawke didn't stand. She sat there for long moments, perched on the balls of her feet, wondering if these satchels of riches were worth it. Was sacrificing her sister to the Gallows worth being able to give her mother back her childhood home? What if she still never approved of her? Could she regret it even more?

"Do you have family, Fenris?" 

Fenris was taken aback by the question, so he didn't answer immediately. "Perhaps," he said eventually.

"You don't know?" she asked, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Well, I— the first memory I have is the ritual that gave me the markings." He made his way further into the room as he spoke, inching closer to her. "I've told you before the pain was extraordinary. Perhaps it is what wiped my memories away, or perhaps Danarius took them. Regardless, whoever I was before is lost. Fenris was the name Danarius gave me, it means wolf in Tevene. His 'little wolf' he was always calling me. If I had another name or a family before then..." He let his silence finish his sentence. 

"I'm sorry," she said, turning to sit back against the wall. She didn't look up at him, just let her tired eyes fall on the floor in front of her. "It must be difficult to not know your past. Though... perhaps it is a blessing."

Fenris replied with an inquisitive quirk of an eyebrow. 

"Sometimes," she continued. "I find myself wondering whether or not it would be better to sacrifice feeling the joy in order to forfeit the pain of the loss."

Fenris leaned back against the wall, pressing his foot against it to balance himself. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you either way."

"I suppose I can't either. We both have the opposing view point. Neither of us have both."

He said nothing, only tilted his head to the side as he observed her. It was odd to see her so talkative. Even after being revealed, she rarely held long conversations. 

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, a self-deprecating smile creeping across her face. "You have enough problems of your own, you don't need mine as well. I'm not trying to give you trouble."

"Well," he said, crossing his arms, "that's a delightful change of pace."

She chuckled, a genuine, bright sound that made Fenris relax a little. "I suppose you have me there," she said, letting her head fall back onto the wall. 

"Tell me," he said after a few more moments of silence. "What do you do when you stop running?"

"I usually get bombed, upside-down, underclothes-on-the-outside drunk," she said. "But this time I had a pile of money to go roll around in, so I thought that might be a good alternative." She looked up at him with her eyes narrowed, as if a thought had occurred to her. "Or... were you talking about something else?"

"No, I wasn't."

"Alright, well, what about you? What are you going to do now that _you've_ stopped running?"

"I am not so sure that I have."

"You've been in Kirkwall for a year or so now. Are you thinking of leaving?"

"I am not."

"Then you're not running."

"I suppose."

She narrowed her tired eyes at him before speaking. "Is this what it was like trying to have a conversation with me?"

"No," he said with a smirk. "This is much less aggravating."

She laughed and shook her head, settling against the wall again.

"It wasn't your fault," he said after the silence filled the room.

"Hmmm?"

"Bethany. The Templars," he clarified.

"Ah, yes, I know. If I believed everything my mother blamed me for, I'd think I was the bloody Archdemon by now. She was merely grieving, lashing out at me to try and counteract the sorrow. I'm used to that by now. She is not a bad person, she just... she's lost so much already. Now to lose Bethany, too..."

"How do you think they found her?" Fenris asked.

"I don't know," she replied with a sigh, running her hands over her hair that was still tied back. "I've asked myself that a thousand times. We were so careful. Someone had to have reported her to them. Someone had to have gone out of their way."

Fenris was unsure whether or not it would be wise to say what he was thinking, but he decided to anyway. "It wasn't me," he offered. "I give you my word on that."

She looked up at him, the confusion obvious in her eyes. "Of course it wasn't. You were down in the Deep Roads with me."

"I could have easily written to them before we left, I suppose."

"At that point you would have assumed that Bethany was going with us. She didn't stay home until the very last minute."

"Very true."

"Even still, Fenris, why do you think I would suspect you?"

"You know my opinion of mages," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "It is something on which you and I have never agreed. You even know I told Bethany that I thought she would be better off in the Circle; safe from herself and from others. I'm surprised the thought never occurred to you."

"Of course it didn't. You have never hidden your opinions regarding mages from me. I have been fully aware of them the entire time we have worked together. You would never force your choices on someone else, to their face or behind their back. Isn't that exactly what you're fighting to get away from?"

"It is..."

Her head fell back against the wall and she blinked her eyes slowly. "You're a good man and I trust you. That's all there is to it."

He wanted to tell her that her confidence was well placed, but he didn't know that it was true. While there was nothing untrue in what she said, she did not fully know him. She did not know of the monster inside of him. Would he tell her she could trust him, even when he didn't know it was true? Danarius would come for him some day, of that he was sure. He remembered the Fog Warriors. He remembered how powerless he had been then. He remembered Danarius' voice speaking the words that forced him into action, and he remembered the darkness as he lost control. That monster was still inside of him and he knew it. 

"Thank you," was all he decided to say in the end. "I will... try to do right by your confidence."

"I'm sure you will," she said. "If Danarius came for you tomorrow, would your first thought be that I wrote him? Would you think I was the one to betray you?"

"No. I would not think you capable."

The smile that spread across her face took him by surprise. 

"You'd best watch your step," she said. "Keep this up and we may be friends one day."

He smiled. "Do not hold your breath."

* * *

Fenris allowed her to keep talking until she eventually fell asleep. He could tell that she had been exhausted _before_ they arrived in the city. After watching her sister be taken by the Templars and then running halfway round the Free Marches, it was only a matter of time before the fatigue got the better of her. He knew she was only talking in order to keep herself from succumbing to the sadness — Fenris was all-too familiar with that line of thinking — so he indulged her knowing it might be the only way she'd get any rest.

He stood there for several minutes just watching her. It was an odd thing: Hawke sleeping. It was like catching a glimpse of the rare moment a predator lets down its defenses. 

Her admission to trusting him wasn't something he had been expecting. He didn't think he had done anything to earn it. She had to be sincere, though. He couldn't imagine that she would allow him to see her sleep if she didn't trust him to some extent. 

"Foolish girl," he said to himself as he shook off his gauntlets. He bent down to lift her into his arms as gently as he could manage, and carried her into the master bedroom to lay her on the sofa in front of the fireplace. He was going to give her a blanket but options were limited in the mansion — clean options, anyway — so he opted to stoke the fire to ensure the room stayed warm. 

He cast the rest of his armor aside and stretched out his shoulders, making his way to the window sill and looking out into the darkened city. The day had brought no shortage of disquiet, but he found his thoughts oddly settled. Perhaps it was the fatigue; perhaps it was being back in the mansion, the closest thing to a home as anything he'd known; or perhaps...

He turned to look back over his shoulder at the sleeping assassin on his couch, her face peaceful as the fire illuminated her skin. 

Perhaps it was this camaraderie. It was good to realize that he was not the only one as deeply troubled by the past as he was. In the months he'd been with Hawke and her companions, when she wasn't maddeningly silent and superior, she was just as silly and sarcastic as the dwarf. Even after she was revealed and they all knew what she was, the only glimpses into her past he'd managed to catch were given by Bethany. Hawke was not the forthcoming type, though who was he to judge for that?

_Trust my sister. She will help you find your place._

He exhaled through his nose and made his way to the large velvet chair by the fire. He crossed an ankle over his knee and leaned his head on his hand. Was he even capable of trusting anyone? Hawke, especially, mysterious enigma that she was. She was nothing but a constant contradiction to everything he knew to be fact. 

_Find my place,_ he thought to himself as he watched the flames dance. _What could that mean?_

If nothing else, there was a mutual understanding between them. He would leave it at that until she made her character clear, either by betraying him or proving her loyalty. With his chin resting on his knuckles he turned to look at her again as she tossed in her sleep. 

_Sometimes I wonder if it's better to sacrifice feeling the joy in order to forfeit the pain of the loss._

Fenris did not know one way or the other, but if he ever found out, if he somehow managed to free himself from Danarius and got his memories back, maybe then he'd know for certain. Having something to love and losing it, or never having it and being none the wiser... which would be more painful? Which was more troubling?

As sleep slowly overtook him, he figured that if he ever managed to find out, he would make sure to tell her.


	13. The Beginning

_“No!” the boy shouted as he was lifted into the air. His wrists were bound together by an iron chain and he could feel the skin bruising as it took on his weight._

_“Higher,” Danarius demanded._

_Up. Up. Up he was lifted into the air over the cauldron. He kicked his feet, swung, did anything he could to try and wring himself free._

_Danarius’ voice echoed through the halls, joined by his three apprentices. Their voices sent chills through the elf, an eeriness spreading through the chamber._

_It was only hours ago that he had been awoken in his cell, told that he was the victor and was to receive his boon. He didn’t know what it meant, or who he was, but they had taken his clothes and told him he was a slave of Lord Danarius Wrailyn. Now he was struggling to keep his weight up against the strain the chains put on his wrists._

_“What are you going to do?” the boy demanded, tossing his jet black hair out of his eyes to try and see._

_The four humans didn’t answer him, they just kept chanting._

_The cauldron below him bubbled and boiled, an eerie white light emitting from it, glowing brighter and brighter. He might have thought it beautiful if it were from another perspective. But now he only felt the fear and the anticipation of death._

_He moved his hands to grip the chains so he could hold up his own weight, sighing with relief as he took the pressure off his wrists._

_He looked back down and the glowing concoction had started to rise like a wraith from a grave. A white mass of liquid dancing slowly up toward him in a swirling vein. He lifted his feet, trying to tuck his legs up under him, but it just kept coming towards him. He tried to swing his weight, tried to shake the chains loose so he’d fall, something, anything._

_“No! Stop,” he pleaded._

_Finally the wisps of glimmering white liquid reached his feet and he flinched as it burned the pads of his heels. Slowly the stuff crawled up his skin, nesting itself in his veins, burning itself into his very flesh._

_A wretched scream ripped from his throat. His knees locked as the lyrium slowly danced up his legs, carving intricate markings into him. The elf had never felt anything like it, the pure and unadulterated agony was almost enough to make him lose consciousness._

_Now the stuff reached his sides, his stomach, his back. Still it persisted. Still it slithered up his skin, still the sharp burn seared his skin, his bone, even his very soul. He writhed under the force of the pain, having completely forgotten the strain in his wrists, concentrating now only on the extraordinary fire in his flesh. Who had he been that he deserved such a punishment? What had he done? Why was this happening?_

_Still his voice tore from his throat and still the terrible magic trailed up his form. Now his shoulders bore the intricate design of the arcane. Slowly it started to consume his arms and move torturously up his sensitive throat. His cries, painful and tormented, seemed pathetic now in this eternal suffering. His fighting: pointless. His past: unimportant. All that mattered was the pain; all that he desired was relief._

_He felt it crawl up the length of his spine and up the back of his neck. Slowly it ignited his scalp and the roots of his hair felt as if they were burning. His once raven hair now melted into the pure, glowing white that had been all around him._

_His body quaked under the absolute exhaustion once the ritual was over. He had let his body go lax, not remotely caring that his wrists burned under the pressure as he was slowly lowered to the ground._

_There he lay, on the cold marble floor of a dark chamber he did not recognize. A large bearded figure made his way to him. The Magister leaned down, holding a hand out to the elf and he could only look up at him in terror._

_Danarius moved his hand to caress the boys glistening white hair with an oddly affectionate smile._

_“He is perfect,” he said. “Just like a wild wolf beaten into submission.”_

_The boy did not respond, just tried to quell his shivering, tried to escape the echo of pain._

_“Yes…” Danarius said, continuing to stroke his hair. “I think I will call you Fenris.”_

* * *

Fenris jolted awake, still in the chair he had fallen asleep in by the fireplace. He looked around the room in a panic before reality settled back in. He was not in Tevinter. He was not with Danarius. He was safe in Kirkwall, safe in the abandoned mansion he had usurped. 

Relieved, he sank back in the chair and ran a hand over his face. He looked out through his fingers, squinting against the sunlight, at the sofa. Where he was sure he had left a sleeping Hawke, there was now a familiar paper-wrapped package.

The beautifully familiar scent wafted to his nose and he chuckled to himself as he went to pick it up.

There was a folded piece of parchment over the meat pie addressed to him in an unfamiliar handwriting. He recognized his name because it had been scrawled on the cast-iron collar he was forced to wear in Tevinter. When he unfolded the paper, however, he just found more writing scrawled down the page. His eyes danced across it but could not recognize any other words, though he did see that it was signed with a small pictogram of a bird. A hawk, most likely. Fenris made a note that Hawke, for whatever reason, assumed he could read. Perhaps she thought a little too highly of a slave's education, though it was more likely due to her usual, almost childish, foolishness. 

He exhaled and pocketed the paper before picking the meat pie up in his hands and biting into it. Steam escaped from the crust as he cracked it open, and he realized Hawke must have just left it there. 

Fenris put his armor back on over his tunic and strapped his sword to his back before turning to leave the mansion. He noted that the door to the room with her loot in it was still wide open. He poked his head inside and all of her gold was still exactly where it had been, but she wasn't in the room. Why had she left this open? Odd.

He shut the door again as he left; perhaps she had merely forgotten.

* * *

"You there," Fenris called to a Lowtown urchin. "Do you read, boy?"

"Uh... yes, messere. I can read." The little blonde boy couldn't have been more than fourteen — and was obviously poor — yet even he had been taught to read. Fenris suddenly felt the weight of his shortcomings. 

"Here," Fenris said as he handed Hawke's note to the boy. "A gold piece if you tell me what this says."

The boy's face lit up and he hurriedly took the note without asking a question and began to read. 

"Elf,

I hope this pie finds you well. I figured since I bought you a pie the last time I stayed the night, I might as well make a tradition of it. I never see you eat anyhow. Look at you, you're practically skin and bones... and lyrium, I suppose. 

Since your time in my employ is — as of yesterday — ended, I do hope you will take care of yourself. You may not consider me a friend, but we have bled together and in my book that means something. If you decide to stop running, we — Varric, Merrill, and I — would be happy to help you make Kirkwall your home. If not, I wish you safety and hope that you find whatever it is you are looking for. I would gladly lend you my blades and again fight at your back should you but ask it of me. 

Alright, if this sentimentality continues, I may vomit. I will simply conclude. 

Thank you for not letting me sleep on the floor with the mice, insects, and whatever else you have crawling around in that disheveled place..."

"Then it's just signed with a picture of a bird or a... crow or something. Wait, is this the Hawk?" The boy looked up at Fenris wide eyed. "You bedded the Hawk?"

"I asked you to read it," Fenris said, snatching the paper away. "Not try to interpret it, you insufferable child." He turned to walk away, flipping the promised gold piece into the urchin's hand. 

Fenris, despite himself perhaps, smiled as he walked through Lowtown and ran the contents of the letter over in his mind. 

Perhaps it _was_ time to stop running.


	14. The Reunion

It was months before Hawke saw her companions again. 

Getting the Amell family home back was no small matter, especially with Bethany in the Circle. Hawke still wished for The Hawk to be a mystery, so she couldn't very well use the persona; she had to go underground. The Hawk all but disappeared from the chatter of the streets within a few weeks. Once she was satisfied that no one would make the connection, she made her way to the docks, changed into an outfit her mother picked out for her, and re-entered the city as a new person: Anara Amell, Leandra's estranged daughter. 

It was easier than it should have been, especially with Varric in her corner. As soon as she stepped into the city, hair bound back in curls, a beautiful violet corset and skirt, people already knew who she was. Thanks to Varric's network, the entire city had been abuzz about the last Amell child, on a warpath to Kirkwall with the intentions of taking back her mother's family home. Hawke could have done without the rumored marriage and mysterious death of a wealthy husband, but she should have known better than to expect Varric to keep it simple. 

There was quite the property war over the Amell estate as by the time Hawke was ready to make their case. The Orlesian noble her mother had told her about had already made a bid on the house. Simone DeLaure was her name, and — considering the prices she was throwing around — she was fantastically wealthy. If Leandra hadn't had the law on her side (her parent's will and a confessing Gamlen), they might not have gotten the property back at all. However, no amount of money changed the fact that it was never Gamlen's house to sell, so in the end it worked out.

It was the first time Hawke had seen her mother smile in ages. 

The following months were filled with decorating the mansion, managing the estate, and attending social gatherings they were always invited to now that they were nobility. Hawke loathed it, but it made her mother happy to be back among the elite, and Hawke loved seeing her mother happy. Simone DeLaure seemed to think that the battle for House Amell somehow made them friends. Anytime Hawke showed up at one of the dinner parties or brunches, Simone would find her and stick to her side. She said it was because they were both new to the city — which as far as Simone was concerned Anara Amell was new to the city — but Hawke suspected she was simply your average debutante looking to have as many powerful connections as possible.

Simone was tall and all things elegant, thick strawberry-blonde curls, vivid green eyes that danced on the border of yellow. Even wearing the heeled shoes young ladies were always wearing, she moved as if she were floating, her arms and fingers appearing long and gentle. She had a light melodic voice that sounded like music, decorated perfectly by her thick Orlesian accent. Her clothes were always of the highest fashion and her makeup expertly executed. 

Simone DeLaure was everything Hawke was trying to pretend to be, but clearly wasn't.

Between the social events and the blind dates her mother kept trying to set her up with, Hawke hardly had time to manage the estate, not to mention _kill people._ She wondered if she were ever going to get to be The Hawk again. She had been in limited contact with Varric, mostly writing back and forth to avoid suspicion. Like she thought he would, he had bought the Hanged Man with his share of their money and had been making all sorts of changes. There was live music almost every night and Wicked Grace games on Wendas. Hawke wondered about the others. She had kept an ear to the ground as best she could. As far as she could tell Anders was still running his clinic in Darktown, Merrill was adjusting to life in the Alienage, and Fenris... well she hadn't heard anything about Fenris. She found herself looking up into his window whenever she found herself in the keep courtyard or down near the Chantry, but she never managed to catch a glimpse of him. 

Perhaps he _hadn't_ stopped running.

It was late in the week when she was seeing to the servants and their work. The sun had only just set when she returned to her office. She was wearing her favorite casual outfit that her mother said made her look like she was cross-dressing, but she liked to think she looked like a pirate. She was comfortable, that was really all that mattered. She put her hair back in a low pony-tail when Bodhan, who had weaseled his way into being a servant, stepped into her office. 

"Letter for you, Messere," he said as he came to her side. 

"Thank you, Bodhan," she said, leaning back in her chair and taking it from him. She perked up when she saw Varric's familiar handwriting on the outside of it and quickly tore the seal to read the small card inside. 

__

We've been summoned.  
-V

Summoned. What could that mean? By whom? Hawke's fingertips tingled in anticipation. Perhaps it was time to make a visit to the Hanged Man.

* * *

It had been many months since Fenris had been in Hawke’s company. He’d caught glimpses of her at the frivolous gatherings of nobility that sometimes took place outside his window, but he was never close enough to do anything other than pick her out of the crowd. He'd also heard the stories about Anara Amell and her quick ascension into nobility. He didn't know what was more amazing, the dwarf's ability to spread rumors or the public's inclination for believing them. 

As for the Hawk, the last Fenris had heard the rogue had taken an elven lover — presumably himself thanks to a certain street urchin with a big mouth. When the Hawk seemingly disappeared just after Bethany was very publically taken away to the Circle of Magi, the rumor changed again (this time making the rogue out to be a demon sent on the behest of the newly incarcerated blood mage) before Fenris stopped hearing about it completely. 

He made his way toward Lowtown. He'd started to frequent the Hanged Man, finding it much more pleasant since Varric took over ownership. He had grown used to spending time with Merrill, Varric, and even Anders. They would all play Wicked Grace together and, when Anders wasn't badgering him about the mage’s plight, he and Fenris got along well enough. 

He saw a woman walking away from Hawke’s estate toward Lowtown, and if not for the fact that he _knew_ it was Hawke’s estate – and perhaps the familiar way she moved – he might not have known it was her. She was wearing a long-sleeved cream colored shirt with a tan vest that fit firmly against her form. Her pants were brown cloth and hugged her legs where they were tucked into leather boots that went up to her knee. Ever since he realized she was a woman he’d suspected that under her layers of leather armor Hawke had been sporting the same curves as her sister.

He’d been right. 

“Young noble ladies really should not take to the streets alone at night,” Fenris called after her. He could tell she recognized his voice because she whirled around and was already smiling through the straight, black wisps of hair that had escaped her pony-tail.

“Fenris,” she said. It almost sounded like a sigh of relief.

“These streets are dangerous,” he continued in his patronizing tone, putting his hands behind his back as he caught up with her. “It would be a shame for you to run into trouble.”

“Oh?” she mused, tilting her head to the side and putting her hands on her hips. “Tell me, kind sir, what if I am looking for trouble?”

“Well, then,” he said, not even bothering to fight the smile that crept onto his face. “I suppose it’s only fair that _I_ give _you_ some for a change.”

She chuckled and turned back toward Lowtown. “Headed to the Hanged Man?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” he said, beginning to walk beside her. “You cannot be intending to spend the evening with us _peasants_.”

“Oh, come off it,” she said, shoving him in the shoulder.

“Are you planning on quitting you alter-ego entirely?” he asked as they walked, unaware that he actually cared about the answer until he’d already asked the question. 

“I would sooner give breathing,” she scoffed. 

“I am glad to hear it,” he admitted. “I cannot think of anything that suits you less than the dresses you’ve been wearing to those miscellaneous social functions.”

“I’m sure that sounded less creepy in your head,” she teased. 

He thought on it for a moment. “Yes,” he agreed. “They are frequently just outside my window and I simply picked you out of the crowd.”

“Do I stand out that much?”

“You are…” he moved his head back and forth as he carefully picked his words. “Obviously not in your element.”

She laughed and let a whimsical sigh escape. “I've never really been good at looking pretty in a dress the way my sister does.”

“I did not say you weren’t pretty,” he said, turning to look at her while they walked. “Only that it did not suit you.”

“What’s the difference?”

He mulled over his thoughts for a few moments as he figured out how to explain. “These… social gatherings you’ve been attending. You dress the way you are expected to dress, not the way you would normally. It is like a lioness pretending to be a housecat.”

She narrowed her eyes, smiling at him. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re attempting to pay me a compliment?”

He chuckled slightly before stopping at the door to the Hanged Man, his hand poised on the door handle as if he intended to open the door for her. “You are a predator, Hawke,” he said. “You look like a predator, you _move_ like a predator. There isn’t enough silk or lace in all of Thedas to hide that.” The moment he finished speaking, he pulled the door open for her, standing aside to allow her to enter in front of him. 

A sly smile spread across Hawke's face as she stood there looking at him. “I don’t even care if you meant that as a compliment,” she said as she stepped past him and through the door. “I’m going to take it that way.”

“If you must,” he said with an exasperated sigh, though he was smiling.

* * *

“Fenris is here,” Merrill said, looking through the door of Varric’s private room to the main entrance. 

“Wonderful,” Anders droned. 

“He’s… he’s got a lady with him," she added, more than a little surprised.

“He, what?” Anders asked, leaning over to try and see what Merrill was seeing.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Varric said as they approached his room. “Elf, you sly dog, who’s your—Hawke!?”

“Keep your voice down,” she sang, sporting a devilish grin. “It’s Ms. Amell in public.”

“Of course,” Varric said with a grandiose gesture of his hand. “How silly of me.”

“I hardly recognize you!” Merrill said, standing to wrap the rogue in her arms. “If Varric hadn’t said anything I don’t think I would have at all.”

“I suppose I’m expected to at least _attempt_ to look respectable now,” Hawke added, gladly returning Merrill’s hug. 

“I knew the slave couldn’t have tricked a different woman into coming here with him,” Anders teased. 

“Unlike the abomination, I do not need to resort to tricks to acquire the company of beautiful women,” Fenris countered. 

“Oh?” Hawke said, quirking a brow and taking a seat next to Fenris. “And what do you resort to?”

“Apparently patronizing them in the street works perfectly well,” he said with a smile. 

“Well, Lady Amell,” Varric drawled, waving Moira into the room. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I got your letter,” she said, putting her feet up on the table and leaning back in her chair. “I have come to inquire after our summons.”

“Oh-ho, I’d almost forgotten,” Varric lied, reaching into the inside pocket of his coat and pulling the letter out of it with two fingers.

“Did you just pull that out of your chest hair?” Hawke asked, holding her hand out expectantly. 

“Try not to swoon,” he teased. 

Moira came into the room, bearing a pint of mead for everyone in the room, masterfully carrying three by the handle in one hand, and two in the other. She pattered out of the room as Hawke finished reading. 

“The Viscount,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Asks for the Hawk by name and everything.”

“I figured if you hadn’t hung up your blades for good, you’d want to join me,” Varric asked. 

“I wonder what it could be about,” she said with a sigh, sliding the letter back across the table. “When are you meeting with him?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Varric replied. 

“So about high-noon, then?” Hawke asked with a smile. 

“Thereabouts,” he confirmed. “So you’ll come, then?”

“Of course,” she said, lacing her fingers behind her head. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Varric said, quirking a quizzical brow at the viscount. "You mean to tell me the head Qunari asked for us?"

"Not _you_ ," he corrected before letting his eyes fall on Hawke. "The Hawk. You were asked for by name."

Varric and Hawke shared a glance. 

"Very well," Varric said. "We will go see what he wants... But we do not promise that we can settle the... tensions that have been rising." 

"Of course," the Viscount said. "Thank you."

By the time Varric had gotten himself out of bed, it had already been late afternoon, so it was well into evening by the time they left the Viscount's keep and headed toward Lowtown.

"What do you think?" Varric asked once they were safely out of Hightown. 

"I think we need to be careful," Hawke said quietly from behind her mask. "Maybe wait until daylight."

"I agree. We should probably bring the elf along."

"Fenris?"

"Aye. He'd be able to keep us from inadvertently offending the giant horned-men."

"True. Do you think he'll come?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

Hawke shrugged. "I don't know... he's not exactly bound to us anymore."

"Well, maybe if you ask nicely... and don't bring Blondie."

* * *

Fenris was sleeping on his stomach when he was awoken by that familiar feeling of Hawke being in his room. "I thought we'd gotten past this," he groaned, propping himself up on his elbows, turning to look at her. She was sitting in his chair, perched on the balls of her feet and dressed in her armor.

"How do you always know when I'm here?" she asked, smiling behind her mask.

"Call it an instinct," he grunted as he turned to sit up. "It's good to see you in your natural state."

"It's been too long," she said with a sigh. "I feel like I haven't stabbed anyone in ages."

Fenris chuckled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sat on the edge of his bed. "So," he asked, his voice still gruff from sleep, "to what do I owe your unsettling presence in my bedroom?"

"Remember that summons Varric and I got from the Viscount?"

"Vaguely," he admitted. 

"Well, apparently the Qunari have asked to see us — me specifically."

He was silent for a few moments, waiting for her to continue, but she didn't. "And I suppose you want me to come along?"

"I have few enough comrades as it is. The list... shortens quite a bit when I narrow it to comrades who speak Qun. I don't want to be the spark in the powder keg, so to speak."

"I hardly think you would say anything to ignite the wrath of the qunari. You're not stupid, Hawke."

"Call it being careful."

He thought it over for a few moments. He had no problem going along; he was merely curious as to why she was so sure she would find a way to make a mistake.

"Very well," he said, standing and rolling his shoulders. "I didn't have any plans today anyway."

"Excellent," Hawke said, also taking the opportunity to stand. "I left Anders out of this for just such an occasion."

"It is appreciated."

* * *

As they entered the Qunari camp, Varric walked ahead of Fenris and Hawke, per usual. When they approached the Arishok however, he would speak only to Hawke. 

"I offer you a courtesy, Hawke," he said. "Someone thinks they have stolen the formula for gaatlok. You will want him hunted."

Hawke looked over at Fenris who gave her a reassuring nod, before she stepped forward. 

"Why do you say that, Messere?" She asked. The Arishok already knew the Hawk was a woman from their last encounter, and obviously cared little about the secret since the city was still in the dark.

"What they stole was a decoy. They did not steal explosives, they stole saar-qamek."

"How much?" Fenris asked urgently, taking a step forward. "How much did they steal?"

"Enough to be mixed. Enough to be sold."

"That merchant," Hawke said, turning to Varric. "What was his name?"

"Javaris."

"There is no time," Fenris demanded. "We need to find him."

Hawke went to protest Fenris' urgency when the Arishok spoke up again.

"I offer this as a courtesy, for you are one who has shown some semblance of ability. Panahedon, Hawke. It will be interesting to see if you die."

Hawke hid the confusion she was feeling and simply nodded respectfully to the Arishok before they turned to walk away.

"The Coterie probably knows where Javaris is," Varric offered. "We can ask one of my contacts."

"We need to move quickly," Fenris spat. "If he has a quantity great enough to sell, thousands of lives are in danger."

"What is it, Fenris?" Hawke asked quietly. "What is it they have?"

"Saar-qamek is a poison. One of the deadliest poisons in Thedas. It is airborne, and drives its victims mad before killing them. A tiny cloud is enough to infect ten people. If they have enough to sell, whole districts will be annihilated."

"Maker," Hawke said softly, picking up her pace. "We need to get to Darktown."

* * *

After a good deal of running around the city, the three of them tracked Javaris to the Wounded Coast. After more than a few threatening looks from Fenris and Hawke, he told them that an elf woman had taken the poison and pinned it on him to cover her ass. It was turning into quite the circus, and they were running out of time. They had to find that poison.

"Come on, Varric!" Hawke called back to him as they ran back toward the city.

"Easy for you to say," he panted as he tried to keep up with his long-legged companions. "We dwarves are natural sprinters. I'm wasted on cross-country."

By the time they got to the alley-way in Lowtown, they were all panting, Varric especially. 

"I'm telling you," he said between hard breaths. "I'm deadly over short distances."

"All of you," the guard was saying to a group of civilians. "I can't fight the damned air, so if you want to live you need to stay out."

The three of them approached, Varric still trying to catch his breath. 

"Messere Hawk?" The guard said. "I thought... they said you'd disappeared."

Hawke almost said something before she realized she was supposed to be her alter-ego. 

"It doesn't matter," Fenris said, since Varric didn't speak up. "What is the situation?"

"You can't go in there, Messeres. It's just a mist that smells of... of... vomit and rust. Then it was a cloud and those around it just went mad or starting retching themselves dead."

"Do not let anyone pass you," Fenris demanded, walking past the guard. "We will take care of it."

They went down the long corridor and through a door to stand on a plateau that overlooked the district. 

"We're too late," Fenris said, leaning on the stone wall. "It's already been released."

"Look," Hawke said quietly. "Those barrels, it looks like it's coming from there. If we can close them, perhaps the poison can dissipate before it spreads."

"We can't go in there," Varric said. "Look at it, it's everywhere!"

"I will."

"No, Hawke," Varric said. "I realize you've been aching for action lately, but you can't do this; you'll be killed."

"We'll all be killed if the poison spreads," she snapped. "I'm the only one with a mask and I'm the fastest. It's the only choice."

"A few breaths will not kill you," Fenris said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "But you should breathe as little as possible."

She nodded before stepping to look over the wall. "I see four barrels from here, but Javaris said there were five."

"There," Fenris said, pointing to a closed off corner of the district. "The fifth is probably back in that corner."

"Alright. You both stay here until I get back."

She stood at the top of the stairs and bent down to prepare herself to sprint. Fenris saw her take a deep breath and hold it just before she sprinted out into the green fog. 

"This is a bad idea," Varric said, pacing along the platform. 

"What choice do we have?" Fenris said, leaning casually on the wall. "The poison cannot be allowed to spread through the city."

"I know, elf, I know. I still don't like that I have to just sit here while Hawke takes all the risks."

"She understands what is at stake. I do not think we would have been able to stop her."

Varric exhaled and ran his hand over the back of his head. "I suppose she hasn't changed after all."

"So it would seem."

"Wait," Varric said, squinting into the mist. "What is that? Is that her?"

They both leaned over the wall and saw a figure moving through the green cloud below them. It made its way to the barrel closest to the stairs on the left and closed it. The smoke immediately started dissipating and they could see Hawke, leaning over the barrel, coughs wracking her chest. 

Fenris was moving before he even had the chance to think if it was a bad idea. He took a deep breath before charging into the fading cloud and sprinted for Hawke, taking her up in his arms and turning on his heel to sprint back up the stairs, releasing the breath he'd been holding when he got to the top. 

"They're coming," Hawke said between coughs, struggling to release herself from Fenris' grip.

He set her down and steadied her, hands on her shoulders. "Who?"

"Elf," Varric bellowed. "We've got company."

Fenris turned to see about twenty assassins slowly making their way toward the stairs. Their faces were covered in veins, rings of black surrounding their eyes. He removed his sword from his back and left Hawke leaning on the wall, coughing. 

He waited atop the stairs, knowing it would be unwise to charge into the smoke to meet them, not only because of the poison but they would lose the advantage of position, forcing assassins to funnel up the stairway to get to them and making their numbers irrelevant. He arched his sword around, rending the most ambitious of the group in half. Varric climbed up onto the ledge, picking off the few that were attacking from range. 

"I knew we should have brought Blondie with us while we were in Darktown," Varric cursed to himself. The two of them stood at the top of the stairs and slowly whittled down the pack of crazed men. 

There was another group coming up from the corridor on the other side of the wall, Fenris and Varric both having forgotten there was a second corridor. Fenris roared with pain as an arrow pierced his shoulder blade, which brought Varric’s attention to the secondary group. 

"Damn it," Varric cursed, turning to release a volley of arrows and hoping to dwindle their numbers before they closed in. 

Fenris reached behind him and broke off the arrow in his back before swinging his sword in a large arch around him. He wasn't surrounded for long before he felt a very familiar weight at his back.

Hawke.

Just as they used to, they moved around each other. Where Fenris would swing, Hawke would duck to the other side and protect his back. He smiled despite himself. Fenris had forgotten how he enjoyed the dance they routinely fell into. 

With all of them fighting, they made quick work of the mad mercenaries, making sure to leave the elf that was leading them alive for questioning. Varric and Fenris loomed over the wounded elf. Hawke was still having trouble breathing, so she lingered behind, leaning on the wall.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," the elf girl whined as she tried to crawl away. "This — this is all wrong."

"What happened?" Varric demanded. "Why were you trying to steal Qunari explosives?"

"The Qunari," she cried, "they steal our people. They convert them to their religion of madness... our people are losing their culture..."

"Why steal gaatlok?" Fenris asked. "How did you think that would avenge your lost people?"

"The human... the human said the Qunari thunder would help. We make a few accidents, spread a few corpses, turn the people against the Qunari."

"Trying to frame the Qunari for genocide?" Varric asked. "That was your plan?"

"Yes... yes exactly." She coughed and hacked for a few moments. "But... this isn't what was supposed to happen..."

"War with the Qunari will ruin the city," Fenris stated, sounding disappointed. "Kirkwall does not have the strength of arms to take them on; they will destroy everything in their path."

"We need to get back to the Viscount," Varric said, scratching his chin. "We need to warn him."

"First we must seek out the Arishok," Fenris corrected. "He needs to know of this to prevent him from acting."

"Good idea," Varric said, turning away from the elf. "Hawke," he said. "Are you okay?"

She still coughed. "I need water," she croaked.

Fenris swung his sword idly to finish off the elf before turning back to the situation. "What you need is free air," he said, going to Hawke's side. 

"What was that?" Varric sneered. "We could have used her as proof!"

"That was an act of mercy," he said, letting Hawke lean on his shoulder. "She maybe had another hour before she succumbed to the saar-qamek." He exhaled and turned to look at the dwarf. "It is not a quick death."

Varric conceded the point by exhaling through his nose and following his companions out of the district. Fenris led Hawke out through the gathering of civilians, leaving Varric to stay and give the guard instructions. 

Hawke's coughing stopped after a few minutes of breathing the clean air and she was putting less and less of her weight on Fenris.

"You did well," Fenris said, setting her down on a nearby bench. 

She nodded at him, a smile in her eyes, but not speaking due to the proximity they were to the guards. 

They both watched Varric from a distance, commanding the guards and looking rather out of place. Then, as if by design, Aveline and her patrol rounded the corner. 

"Hawke? Fenris?" she said, walking toward the pair and waving a dismissive hand at the guards with her. "Donnic, Meyer's, go check in with Masson."

"Yes, Captain," they said in unison, excusing themselves. 

Aveline folded her arms over each other and sank into a hip. "I should have known you would have your fingers in this somehow."

"It's not what it looks like," Hawke whispered. 

"It rarely is with you," Aveline countered.

Hawke and Fenris quickly explained the situation and Aveline listened intently before looking over at Varric with a sigh.

"Alright, I'll handle it from here," she said. "You three need to get to the Qunari camp."

"Thank you, Aveline," Hawke said softly. 

"Of course," she said. "Your actions may skirt the law from time to time but genocide is a little out of your moral compass."

"Fair enough," Hawke said.

Aveline laughed and clapped Fenris on the back, making him stiffen and clench his teeth against the pain as she passed.

"Honestly, Fenris," Hawke whispered, "she's not _that_ strong."

"Her terrifying grip notwithstanding, I still have the deadly end of an arrow imbedded in my shoulder."

Hawke's eyes widened with realization, but there was an entertained light there and he heard her try to keep herself from laughing. 

"I am glad that my discomfort offers you some amusement."

* * *

Fenris insisted that they go speak to the Arishok before they dealt with his wound, as it was not causing him too much discomfort and the sooner they defused the Qunari the better. Varric and Hawke agreed, and they delivered the news to the Arishok. He did not seem to care as much about the actual setup, but more about the utter greed and corruption of the city itself. After a rather unseemly outburst, which Fenris did not find completely unexpected, he settled back into his throne and addressed Hawke alone. 

"You are one of the few I have met with any ability," he said, making grandiose gestures with his hands. "Yet this was also random; a product of selfishness. I cannot fathom how such a mire can exist. How do you allow this to continue?"

Hawke cleared her throat and took down her hood and mask. 

"My welcome to the city was not so different from yours, Arishok."

"Yet, you suffer it?"

"With respect, Arishok, I feel that my opinion on this matter is one that will only cause further disagreement between us."

"And still I would hear your thoughts."

Hawke looked at Fenris and he could read the uncertainty in her face. He motioned his head toward the Arishok. He hoped it conveyed that an earnest answer was the best choice. 

She sighed and looked down at her feet before looking back at the Arishok. "Such is how we live life here, messere. To us life is uncertain, it is wild and beautiful. That is what makes it so worth living."

"But you have no purpose!"

"Purpose is not given, it is found," she defended. "Life is not about accepting what is given us and stagnating in the depths of what we are told is all we deserve. Life is about achieving more. Life is about making decisions that may someday shape our fortunes."

The Arishok leaned back in his throne and studied Hawke with a furious gaze. 

"You look down on the Qun, human?"

"I do not, messere. I have the utmost respect for your customs and beliefs. I am merely expressing a desire that you do the same for ours."

There were several moments of tense silence. Fenris watched Varric's fingers stretching in preparation for a fight, and noticed Hawke had gone stiff with anticipation. When the Arishok finally spoke, it made her flinch.

"Very well, Serah Hawke. Your assistance in this matter has been noted... Leave."

She nodded, pulling up her mask and turning on her heel to scurry out of the camp.

"Well," Varric said. "My ass hasn't clenched that hard in years."

"Charming," Fenris offered, finally allowing his hand to reach for his wound. 

"I need a drink," he continued. "You two know where I'll be."

* * *

Fenris sat in front of the fire, shirt and armor discarded, grunting and gritting his teeth as Hawke attempted to dig the wood of the arrow out of his shoulder. She was perched on the balls of her feet behind him, still trying to work the arrow head out of his muscle.

"For someone as deft and agile as you," he hissed, "I am appalled at how clumsy your hands are."

"Might I remind you," she scoffed, "that this was your idea? I wanted to take you to Anders."

"In hindsight, I do not know which option is worse." He grabbed the bottle of wine he had sitting next to him and uncorked it with his teeth and spat the cork into the fire. 

"I've almost got it," she said. She stopped to pull off her leather gloves to grant her fingers better movement. She picked the tweezers back up with her right hand while her left went to Fenris' shoulder to steady him. His marking came alight under her touch. 

She jerked her hand back. "Agh — what was that?"

"Hmm?" He said, looking over his shoulder. "What was what?"

"Your markings," she said, pointing as if he didn't know what she were talking about. "They lit up when I touched you. That's never happened before."

"You have never touched me with your bare hands before. You always wear gloves."

"Does that always happen when someone touches you?"

Fenris returned to facing forward. "No."

She was silent for a few moments, obviously confused. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly."

She sighed. "Fine, you damn nuisance," she mumbled, putting her hand back on his shoulder and ignoring the glow coming from under her hand. When she finally extracted the arrowhead, she set it next to the fire and picked up a wet rag to clean the wound. "I'm going to have to stitch the wound closed," she said, sounding as soothing as she could muster.

"Wonderful."

"This is probably going to hurt," she said. "A lot."

Fenris took another drink. 

Hawke threaded her needle and carefully pierced his skin with it. 

" _Sint vishante kaffar,"_ he sneered, slamming his fist into the wall of the fireplace.

"Easy now," she cooed softly. She worked as quickly as she could, each new pierce making him grind his teeth and groan in pain. 

About two stitches in, Fenris heard her start humming a melody. He turned his head a little, though not enough to see her, but enough that he could hear her more clearly. 

"Are you... singing?"

"Hmmm? Oh, I suppose I was." She laughed as she continued. "Sorry. Old habits die hard."

"Old habits?"

"Whenever Carver or Bethany were hurt or wounded, I would sing to them to take their mind off the pain. Even after our father had healed them or it was taken care of, they would pretend it still hurt so I would keep singing." She laughed, but it was a sad sound. "It's been a long time since I've had to put stitches in someone."

"I can tell," Fenris said with a smile that quickly turned to a grimace as she continued her work. 

"Almost done," she soothed. Two more piercings later, she lowered her head and bit off the string before taking the cool, wet cloth to it again. "There we are, good as new."

"I don't know if I'd say that," he said, reaching for his tunic, "but thank you."

"Maybe next time you'll swallow your pride and let the healer take care of it."

"Perhaps it is the wine, but I suddenly feel this was still the better choice than voluntarily exposing myself to the Abomination's whining."

Hawke laughed and began to gather up her tools. 

"You'll need to change the bandage tomorrow. If I leave bandages with you will you be able to reach it?"

"I will manage," he said as he stood and made his way to his chair. "What will you do about the Viscount?"

"Varric is going to talk with him in the morning."

"So mid-afternoon, then?"

"Probably. He'll explain the situation with the elf and the humans helping her and hopefully we can hold back the tide of the angry masses for a while. War with the Qunari will not end well for us."

"You've earned their respect, at least. Let us hope that counts for something."

"Have I?" She gave him a sarcastic laugh. "Seems more like he likes to pick on me."

"The Qunari are a very proud race. The fact that he concerns himself with your opinion means a great deal to them."

"Really?"

Fenris nodded, taking another drink from his bottle. 

She propped up her arm on her knee and picked up the extracted arrow in her other hand, turning it over in her fingers a few times before throwing it into the fire. 

"Well, I certainly felt like a fool," she admitted.

"You _are_ a fool," he teased.

She stuck her tongue out him, which made him laugh. 

"I did not find your answer foolish," he added. "Naive, perhaps, but not foolish."

"Well, thank the Maker for that."

"Your sarcasm is intolerable," he said. 

"Your _brooding_ is intolerable," she shot back.

Fenris rolled his eyes. "I do not 'brood.' Though to hear you and Varric talk, I'd think I do nothing else."

"You're so solemn all the time," she defended. "It makes us frivolous people uncomfortable."

"Bethany was plenty frivolous, but she never told me I brood."

"Bethany was too busy thinking about you naked."

Fenris swallowed his wine sideways and fell into a coughing fit. Hawke burst out laughing. 

"I beg your pardon?" he managed to get out eventually.

"Ah yes, Bethany seems so sweet and kind, yet her mind is in the gutter about ninety percent of the time."

Fenris cleared his throat. "I was under the impression she had eyes for the abomination."

"I don't think she seriously sought after either of you," Hawke mused, thinking back on how they would stay up late to talk about it. "She liked your markings. Thought they were exotic."

Fenris snorted a bitter laugh. "Exotic indeed."

The silence filled the room as Fenris continued to drink and Hawke stared into the fire. After a few minutes like that Hawke snapped out of her thoughts and stood.

"I should go," she said. "It's getting late and mother will worry."

"Thank you," he said, "for your assistance."

"Of course." She put her pack over her shoulder and turned to him. "Thank you for coming along today. It was fun."

"Yes," he said. "I always enjoy when you end up poisoned."

"Well, good," she said with laugh, heading for the door. "Glad to be of assistance."

"Hawke," he called after her, making her turn around in the doorway to look at him. "As long as I'm staying in Kirkwall, you are free to… call upon me… should you need me, I mean.”

Her eyebrows upturned with concern. "Really? I mean, you don't owe me anything. You're a free man, Fenris."

He laughed and crossed an ankle over his knee. He wasn't sure if what she said was true, but the fact that she thought it was... he found it endearing. "Well, then, as a free man, I am free to lend my sword to whom I see fit."

She smiled, much wider than he had seen her in the longest time. "Thank you," was all she said before slowly turning to leave. 

_A free man,_ he thought to himself after he heard her leave. _It would appear so._


	15. The Rivaini

Varric delivered the news to the Viscount the following day, who was quick to express his relief that the Qunari had not been behind the poison being released. He also gave his word that Varric and his companions would be informed on the situation when they were needed, and would do his best to calm those who would seek revenge. Varric also managed to get him to depart with some coin, unsurprisingly.

Now that Hawke had stepped into the public eye as Anara Amell, Fenris saw much more of her coming down to the Hanged Man when she could spare the time. None of the patrons seemed to put together that Anara Amell and The Hawk were never in the pub at the same time, though the Hanged Man wasn't exactly known for its intellectuals so Fenris was hardly surprised. She would join them in games of Wicked Grace and Fenris would watch as she laughed freely or relaxed into her chair, relieved to be free of her mask and hood. 

Fenris was growing rather fond of the party that surrounded him during the week, though he'd be damned if he'd admit it aloud. Even the Dalish girl — while naive — was endearing in her kindness. Anders still had a knack for picking fights with him, but with Hawke back, they rarely went further than a few snide jabs before she put them both in their place. While Fenris and Hawke disagreed plenty, she was their grounding force, and he didn't realize how powerful her absence had been until now that she was keeping their company again.

"You should have seen him," Hawke groaned, regaling them with her latest tale of the blind dates her mother had been setting her up on. "He was literally _falling_ over himself to wait on me; opening doors, pulling out chairs, he even _put my napkin in my damned lap._ Lord, the amount of control this man needed was extraordinary."

"You know," Varric began, "most women in the nobility like that sort of thing. They expect to be waited on like princesses."

"The nerve," she continued, tipping back her mead. "As if these... these... _feathered peacocks_ can do anything for me that I cannot do myself. I had to steal his wallet just on principle." She told Varric to order her another pint while she excused herself, slinking into the back where the restrooms were.

Hawke had hardly been gone a few minutes when Fenris noticed a woman, olive-skinned with full curves and feathered chocolate hair, entered the bar. The room grew silent as she stepped into the light. She sauntered through the door — wearing a tunic that revealed more than it covered — and sank into a hip. She had a blue bandana keeping her hair out of her face and a golden stud through her bottom lip. She didn't seem surprised that the entire tavern was staring at her.

"Now," the woman said, one eyebrow arching, "this is my kind of establishment."

Varric was, of course, the first to stand and straighten out the lapels of his jacket. "You must forgive us for our befuddlement. We're not used to tourists of your..." he gestured one hand like he was making the figure of a woman with it. "... Caliber." 

"And I'm not used to meeting men of your... _height,"_ the Rivaini shot back. 

"Oh. A saucy one, are you?" Varric asked with a quirk of his brows. 

"The sauciest," she added with a wolfish grin. "But you may call me Isabela."

Fenris turned his attention to Hawke who was straightening her vest as she reentered the room.

"Lord," she was saying, "I haven't heard you lot be this quiet since—"

Hawke cut herself off when she noticed who they were all staring at, and Fenris watched as all expression dropped out of her face. He looked back to the mysterious woman and saw that the reaction was mutual. While the newcomer recovered quickly with a confident grin spreading across her face, Hawke simply tensed her shoulders and jaw. 

"Magpie," the stranger said, shifting the weight of her hips onto her other foot.

Hawke's eyes narrowed. "Naishe," she sneered through clenched teeth.

By the time Fenris noticed Hawke's hands flexing in preparation, the women were already sprinting at one another. They collided in the center of the floor; both with a blade in each hand, slicing at each other mercilessly. Fenris had jumped to his feet just on instinct, intending to help Hawke, but he quickly decided that interfering was more dangerous than letting them have at each other.

The patrons knew a bad situation when they saw one and quickly filtered out of the bar to avoid the mess this might become. 

Hawke and the stranger— Isabela, she had called herself — danced around each other, barely managing to avoid each other's swipes. Hawke swung her dagger in an arch and Isabela managed to catch the arm and knock the blade out of her grip just before placing an elbow into Hawke's nose, forcing her to stumble back and cover her face with her palm. 

"First blood," Isabela taunted, flipping her dagger in her hand.

Hawke pulled her hand away and saw that it was, indeed, covered with blood. She snarled and dove back toward Isabela, faking a high jab before swiping the woman's feet out from under her and sending her onto the flat of her back. Hawke lurched passed Isabela to try and get her other dagger back, but the stranger grabbed her ankles and pulled her down. Isabela reeled a dagger back and Hawke rolled out of the way just in time for the blade to get embedded in the floor.

Hawke picked up her other dagger as she got back to her feet, spinning them in her hands as Isabela tore her dagger out of the ground and charged again. Hawke jabbed her blade toward the woman's throat, who narrowly managed to side-step out of the way. Fenris saw the stranger's hair fly as pieces of it had been sliced from Hawke's blade. 

"Varric," Anders began softly. "What is going on?"

"I haven't even the slightest," the dwarf answered.

"Shouldn't we help her, you think?" Merrill asked. 

"You must be out of your mind if you think I'm getting myself involved in that," Varric returned.

"Hawke can take care of herself," Fenris added, turning to lean on the table and cross his arms.

Isabela hit Hawke in the jaw with the hilt of her dagger, and they watched as her blood spattered to the side. 

"Er... I'm sure she'll be fine," Fenris quickly added.

Hawke flipped up onto a table, spinning around and kicking Isabela in the face. The stranger used the momentum to spin and take a small blade from her belt and throw it at Hawke. She bent so far backward to avoid it that she was able to put her hands down and flip over to get back on her feet. Isabela leaped up onto the table to chase her and Hawke turned, running up one of the walls and leaping backward, tucking as she spun end over end and landing behind her opponent. Just as the woman turned around, Hawke's foot was coming from the other direction to roundhouse kick her in the face.

Even with his superior eyesight, Fenris was having trouble following their movements. They were both so quick and so agile that they almost looked to blur together.

Isabela turned and sidestepped Hawke's blow before bending and using the hilt of her dagger to swipe Hawke's legs out from under her. Hawke flew back, but diverted her momentum into a backward somersault to spring back onto her feet. She flung one of her daggers as she came up, and Isabela spun to avoid it, forcing it to embed in the far wall. They both only had one dagger now as they entangled again. A slight misstep lead to Isabela disarming Hawke completely, sending her remaining dagger clattering off to the side. She used the opportunity to raise her foot and heel-kick Hawke in the chest, sending her sprawling onto her back. Isabela charged and dove for Hawke, thinking she was going to be able to end the fight there, but Hawke rolled back on her shoulders and caught the waist of her opponent between her legs and used the momentum to flip Isabela, sending her into the floor head first. Isabela's remaining weapon fell to the floor beside them and Hawke didn't waste a moment in grabbing it and climbing on top of the disoriented woman. Hawke trapped the stranger's hips between her knees and pressed the dagger to her throat, effectively pinning her to the floor. 

They lingered for long, tense moments. Each one panting, though neither broke the other's eye contact.

"You've gotten faster," Isabela said. 

"And you've gotten _sloppy_ ," Hawke replied. 

After another tense moment, they both burst out laughing. 

Anders, Merril, and Fenris exchanged confused glances.

"Well," Varric said, rocking up on his toes. "That was probably the sexiest thing I've seen in a while."

* * *

"So," Varric said, rubbing his eyes. "You and the Rivaini knew each other in Ferelden?"

"Yes," Hawke said, holding a rag to her bloodied nose. "We trained together for a time."

"Ah, the good old days," Isabela sang, holding the ice to her head. "Hawke and I were damn near inseparable for the better part of two years."

"Before you got your ship, you mean," Hawke offered.

"Yes, well, by the time that happened, you had long abandoned us."

"I didn't abandon you," Hawke defended. "It was you two that..." She stopped herself when she noticed the party around them. "It doesn't matter. Water under the bridge."

Isabela quirked an entertained brow at her refusal to talk about it.

"So, wait. Is your name Naishe or Isabela?" Anders asked.

"Call me Isabela," she said. "Naishe is an old name that Hawk always liked to tease me about."

"It's a silly name, is all," Hawke added.

"Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?" Isabela asked. "How rude."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Varric here helped us when we got into the city and has been my partner in crime since I arrived."

Varric nodded in greeting. 

"Anders here runs a clinic down it the undercity."

Anders waved. 

"Merrill is Dalish, came with us from her camp out on the Wounded Coast."

"Nice to meet you, Isabela," Merrill said with a timid wave.

"And this is Fenris. He lives in Hightown and likes to brood."

Now Fenris rolled his eyes.

"He's got tattoos," Isabela said, tilting her head as she eyed the elf. "You are _absolutely_ my type."

"Your type?" Fenris asked, one eyebrow arched. "And what is your 'type' exactly?"

"Breathing," Hawke scoffed into her mug. 

"So, tell me," Isabela said, ignoring Hawke as she leaned into Fenris beside her. "Do those tattoos go all the way down?"

Fenris turned his head, just barely enough to acknowledge her, but did not move otherwise. "Yes."

"May I see?"

"No."

Isabela leaned back to Hawke. "We'll see about that."

Fenris saw Hawke stiffen and shift uncomfortably in her chair.

"So, what brings you to Kirkwall?" Hawke asked quickly. "Slept with everyone in Ferelden already?"

"Hardy har," Isabela sang. "I am looking for something, and I tracked it here after my ship was destroyed."

"You lost your ship?" Hawke asked, her expression taking a turn toward concerned.

"It's a long story," Isabela replied. "The past bores me."

"And what treasure is it you're looking for now?" Hawke asked. 

"It's not treasure; it's a... relic of sorts. A slave-trader by the name of Castillon thinks I have it and will kill me if I don't find it for him."

"How do you get yourself into these messes?" Hawke said with a laugh that almost sounded affectionate. "A loveless marriage, a stolen ship, and now running from raiders."

"You know me," Isabela said, leaning back in her chair. "If I'm not getting into trouble, I'm not having fun."

"Truer words were never spoken."

* * *

They talked for another few hours while picking Wicked Grace back up for a few rounds. Both Hawke and Isabela managed to stop bleeding, and despite the tense reunion, they were glad to see each other. 

Merrill, who was never very good at holding her liquor, ended up asleep on the table, and Isabela, who had nowhere else to go, rented a room at the Hanged Man. Varric was nice enough to give her a discount because she was an old friend of Hawke's, but Hawke suspected it was for the same reason Isabela was _always_ getting discounts. 

Anders, Fenris, and Hawke all left together. Fenris and Hawke had made quite the habit of walking to Hightown together after leaving the Hanged Man in the passing weeks. Hawke found it rather unusual considering how often she managed to get under the elf's skin, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it.

"Isabela, she seems... well traveled," Anders said, none too smoothly.

Hawke laughed. "She is certainly that."

"I like her," Anders said resolutely.

"Men usually do," Hawke added. "And most women. Some dogs."

Fenris snorted a laugh as Anders waved his goodbye to head to Darktown.

"I get the feeling that you don't much _like_ Isabela," Fenris said as they began to walk. "There is a lot of... animosity when you speak to her."

"I do like her," she said with a sigh. "But I don't trust her. I never have."

"Any... particular reason?"

"We could walk round the entire free marches and I wouldn't have time to list them all."

"Very well," he said with a chuckle. "I understand."

She sighed and looked up into the night sky as they walked. "Don't... misunderstand me. Isabela is a good person. She's just more concerned with her loins than her friendships sometimes, and I like to rib her for it," Hawke defended. "I think some of that stems from jealousy though, if I were being completely honest with myself."

"Jealousy? What does she have to be jealous over?"

Hawke cleared her throat in an attempt to hide how she'd started blushing. "She's just so... in control all the time. I tease her plenty about being a slattern, but that's only because that is literally the only thing I _can_ make fun of her for. She's beautiful, witty, talented, so confident in who she is. She always knows what she wants and she never lets anyone make her feel ashamed for who she is, how she acts, or what she does with her life." Hawke sighed and looked down at her feet. "I admire her for that. I mean, ever since I've _known_ her, people have fallen all over themselves just to be in her line of sight. I adore her, honestly, and she knows I'm only kidding. Sometimes, though, I envy her quite a bit."

"You could be like that, if you really wanted to," Fenris said with a shrug. 

"How do you figure?"

"I... do not know Isabela well, but from my short encounter with her, it is very obvious that she puts great effort into being beautiful. She has makeup on, large jewelry, her hair in curls, her clothing revealing. The way she looks is simply another weapon in her arsenal, and she is hyper aware of it. I imagine that not only does _she_ like it, but it is also useful in getting what she wants from people."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that, yes, Isabela is very beautiful. But so are you, Hawke, without even trying. In fact, I'd be willing to go as far as saying that you are plenty more beautiful when you are being yourself than when you are painted up for the nobility, and if you wanted to take what you wanted the way Isabela does, you easily could." He shrugged again. "That is simply not who you are, and I rather like you the way you are. You are true to yourself, and she is true to hers. No one can ask for more than that."

Hawke looked Fenris over with narrowed eyes as he walked silently and expressionless beside her. Even through their bickering over mages and templars and whatnot, over the past months Fenris had shown that he was much kinder and more socially aware than he'd originally let on. He said things so plainly, as if it were perfectly normal to just tell someone they were beautiful. There was no flirtatious inflection, no hint of adoration; he stated things as if they were simply fact. 

"You're hard to get a read on," she said after a while. 

"Am I?"

"Yes. I never know what you're thinking."

"Well, that is by design." 

"Is it?"

"Danarius, he..." he stopped for a moment to weigh his words. "He is very cunning, and very cruel. His three apprentices, Hadriana, Lora, and Vexis, were also cruel. As such, I learned very young to keep my face from revealing what I felt to avoid letting them use my fears against me. It has become second nature to me."

"Except when you're angry."

"So it would seem. Danarius fostered rage in me for a very specific purpose. On most days, I was used as entertainment for guests or him personally, but there were times where he used me for defense, or even murder." He cleared his throat. "He nurtured a very strong hate in me. It is not something I am proud of, but not something that can be easily forgotten either."

"I know what it's like," she said. "To be unable to control a part of yourself."

He looked over at her, an eyebrow cocked. "Do you?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that it's even close to the same magnitude, but I do know what it's like to have a part of you that is hard to forget... a part of your soul that you're powerless against." Fenris said nothing, just turned his head forward as they walked. "I'm glad you stayed," she said before she could think better of it.

That seemed to at least take him off guard, forcing him to look at her again. "Indeed?"

"Yes," she said resolutely, unable to back out of it now. "And regardless of your attempts to the contrary, I find I rather enjoy your company."

"I find that... odd," he admitted, still looking at her as he walked.

"What? Why?"

"I am an escaped slave — and an elf — living in a borrowed mansion. I _literally_ glow from time to time, and we very rarely agree on anything. I am merely surprised none of that bothers you."

"Well, I am an avid supporter of mages, a cross-dresser, and a Ferelden refugee. Does that bother _you_?"

"You bother me plenty," he said with a teasing smirk. 

That made her laugh, nudging him in the side with her elbow. "What I'm saying is that none of those things have anything to do with the strength of your character, or whether or not you're a good person."

He chuckled. "You are not most people, clearly," he said, intentionally quoting her from when he'd discovered her secret.

"It's nice to have someone around who isn't afraid to disagree with me," she said as she approached the door to her mansion. "I like a challenge. It helps keep me sane."

"Then I have clearly been lax in my duty."

"And just like that, I hate you again."

* * *

Hawke awoke the next morning to the unsettling sound of some kind of ruckus in her front room. 

"Don't you lie to us, half man," someone was saying. "We know she's here and we aren't leaving until we find her."

"Now, now, gentlemen," Bodahn was saying. "I can assure you that you have the entirely wrong place."

Hawke quickly jumped into her casual clothes and hid her daggers under her skirt before exiting her room. Three men she didn't recognize were holding Bodahn in the air against the wall and demanding answers.

"Well, now," Hawke said, trailing a hand down the railing as she came down the stairs. "This is hardly polite."

"Screw your polite, bitch," the main one said, dropping Bodahn onto the floor. "Where's Isabela?"

Hawke quirked a curious brow. "Who?"

"Don't play dumb with us," he said, pulling a sword off of his back. "We know she's here. This is the address she gave us."

"Of course it is," Hawke said with a sigh, rubbing her eyes. "I'm afraid she's not here. Can I take a message for you?"

The leader advanced and grabbed Hawke by the front of her shirt. "How about I carve it into that pretty face of yours?"

Hawke sighed through her nose and rolled her neck to one side. "This is definitely not how I'd planned on starting the day."

She threw her forehead into the stranger's nose and sent him stumbling backward, holding his face. 

She spun around, taking her daggers out from under her skirt and threw them. One went through the second man's upper thigh, making him fall to the ground. The other went through the third man's shoulder and pinned him to the wall behind him. She reached for the ash shovel in front of the fireplace and brought it upside each of the intruder's heads, knocking them all unconscious. 

"Well done, my lady," Bodahn cheered. 

"Enchantment!" Sandal cheered.

Hawke tossed Bodahn the fireplace shovel and put her hands on her hips. 

"Now what am I going to do with—"

Isabela burst through the front door, daggers in hand. 

Hawke turned to acknowledge her with an irritated cock of her eyebrow. 

"Well, shit," Isabela said, strapping her daggers to her back. "Sorry, love, I overslept."

" _That,_ I wouldn't have minded. But you might _inform_ me of the plan next time, no?"

"It was kind of a last minute thing last night," she said with an embarrassed smile. She put her foot on the leader's face and rolled it back and forth. "Ah, Lucky. You've definitely seen better days."

"Care to explain?" Hawke asked, crossing her arms. 

Isabela sighed. "I'm in deep, Magpie."

"Aren't you always?"

"It's different this—"

"Ah-ah. No," Hawke interrupted, raising a hand to motion for silence. "I've changed my mind. I am going to take a bath. In the meantime, you figure out how to get rid of your friends. Then we'll talk."

Isabela sank into a hip with an exasperated sigh. "You really haven't gotten any nicer."

"You'd better hope that blood doesn't stain my new rug," she said, turning to head back up the stairs. "Then we'll see just how mean I can be."

* * *

After Hawke had gone through her usual morning ritual, Isabela was still waiting downstairs, the unconscious intruders were gone, and she was watching Bodahn and Sandal try to scrub the blood out of the floors. Hawke knew that if Isabela had actually done everything she said, she really did need her help. 

"Isabela," Hawke called from the second floor. 

The Rivaini turned to look up at Hawke and then smiled before heading up the stairs and following her into the bedroom. 

"I didn't think this was a date," she said. 

"Shut up, Izzy. Get on with it."

"Well, I can't do _both."_

Hawke sat in her sofa by the window and Isabela joined her. 

"This is about the relic, isn't it?" Hawke asked. 

Isabela sighed. "Yes. Castillon has sent men after me for it, but I don't have it. I arranged for a duel with his man Hayder and he's agreed to leave me alone if I win. But I know he won't play fair and I need someone to watch my back."

"You know, nine times out of ten, 'watching your back' entails killing a lot of people."

"But at least that tenth time, it means looking at my ass."

* * *

Hawke agreed to meet Isabela at dusk in the Chantry courtyard to help her with Hayder. When Hawke arrived, Isabela was pacing wildly back and forth in the corridor. 

" _There_ you are," she said. "I've been here for hours but there's still no sign of him. I've got a bad feeling about this whole thing."

"Funny," Hawke said in a whisper. "I get that feeling every time you're around."

"Hilarious," Isabela said with a scoff. "Why are you whispering?"

"It's a long story."

" _There's_ the bitch we're looking for," said a shrill voice coming from the Chantry steps. "Gut her."

"Is that Hayder?" Hawke asked.

"No," Isabela said. "That's a trap."

The two women removed their daggers from their backs and charged into the fray. Once they had engaged the leader, enemies started pouring out from all sides, surrounding them. They came down from the rooftops and from the Hightown courtyard. Hawke and Isabela stayed back-to-back, protecting each other's vulnerabilities as they felled the mercenaries one by one. 

"There's too many," Isabela said. 

Hawke stayed silent, like she usually did, but just tried to focus on the task at hand. She didn't know if the two of them would be able to take them all, but they were surrounded and running wasn't an option. 

She was relieved to hear a familiar, bestial sound coming from the other side of the mob, and she just managed to see several bodies flying into the air with the arch of his mighty sword. 

Fenris.

He quickly carved a path to them and took his place at Hawke's back. 

With the added strength they managed to fell the remainder of the trap rather efficiently. Isabela started to rifle through the corpses as Hawke and Fenris stepped out of the mess. 

"I don't recall inviting you," Hawke said quietly as she removed her dagger from a corpse's chest. 

"I find it hard to sleep with you two causing such a disturbance outside my window," Fenris returned, putting his sword on his back.

"Oh, so you live around here, do you?" Isabela asked with a swing of her hips as she moved to start rifling through the bodies. 

"Save the flirting," Hawke demanded. "This mess is yours in the first place."

"You know," Fenris said, moving to stand beside Hawke with his arms crossed. "You should really post guards outside your estate, considering all the trouble you get into."

"Most of them don't know where I live, that is until a certain _someone_ opens her big mouth."

"Like I said," Isabela defended as she rummaged through pockets. "It was a last minute thing. I had to give them _some_ address. Varric gave me yours after some... convincing."

Hawke rolled her eyes.

"I still don't understand why you're talking so quietly. Ah-hah!" Isabela pulled out a piece of paper from the leader of the mercenaries and read it. "Hiding in the Chantry and sending thugs to finish me off? Coward."

"So, we go to the Chantry then?" Hawke asked, ignoring Isabela's comment about the volume of her voice. 

"He's probably not alone. It promises to get bloody," she added.

Both women looked at Fenris. 

"I don't suppose I needed to sleep _that_ badly," he said.

* * *

When Hayder and his men had finally been culled, Hawke was nursing a nasty gash in her side. Fenris put her arm over his shoulders and helped her out of the Chantry and into the abandoned courtyard. 

"Damn it," she cursed, holding her hands against it to stop the bleeding as Fenris leaned her against the wall. 

"Oh dear," Isabela said, following quickly and pulling a vial out of her pack. "Here we are again... getting you wounded in my messes."

"Some things never change," Hawke grunted, though she was smiling behind her mask. She took the potion from Isabela and tugged on her mask so she could drink it.

"We should get you healing," Fenris interrupted. 

"Don't be silly," Hawke said, waving him off. "I'll be fine, it's not that deep."

"If I had a nickel for every time I've said that," Isabela said with a wicked grin. 

"Maker, you'd have enough money to buy every ship in Thedas."

Fenris covered up his laughter by coughing. 

"I'm sorry," Isabela said after a long bout of silence. "About not telling you why they were after me."

"Of everyone, Izzy, you should know by now that I would have supported you. We have always been of the same mind when it comes to slavery."

"I had hoped so. I don't know, Magpie. It's been a long time. People change."

"Do they? Well, you're a shitty example of that."

"Oh, bite me, would you?"

"While I'm glad to listen to your witty repartee," Fenris drawled. "I think we'd better move along."


	16. The Story

Days melted into weeks, and weeks into months. Isabela seemed to fit in nicely with the crew, and offered her assistance whenever Hawke requested it. The only problems that seemed to arise from her presence occurred whenever Aveline was around. Isabela may have liked getting under Hawke's skin, but she _loved_ terrorizing the captain.

It was a frigid evening when Hawke made her way down to the Hanged Man for their usual Wendas night game of Wicked Grace. She was late due to having to entertain one of the blind dates her mother had been trying to set her up with, so by the time she arrived they were already well into the game. The band Varric had hired to play during the week was in full throttle and Hawke had trouble hearing over the commotion.

They all raised a glass and cheered when they saw Hawke enter the room, though she noticed Fenris was absent and figured he had already gone home. She was fantastically late, after all. She acknowledged them all with a nod and a grin as she crossed her arms and leaned on the wall next to the table.

"How much have I missed?" she asked.

"I've already lost my ass," Anders said, his sentence was punctuated by a hiccup. 

"The rounds were going a lot faster since we were down two," Isabela clarified. 

"Two? Fenris didn't show up at all?" Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Naw," Varric added. "I figure he's grown tired of losing to me every week."

They continued the round of cards before Varric offered to deal Hawke in. 

"No, thanks," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "It's too late for me to get started. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were all behaving."

"I am always on my best behavior," Varric defended.

"Oh? And what's your worst then?" Isabela taunted.

"You don't want to know," Hawke interrupted with a shake of her head. "Do try not to get so drunk that you are useless to me tomorrow night?"

Hawke turned and walked out of the room with a wave and, even though she felt she covered quite nicely, she could _feel_ Isabela's eyes on her back as she left.

Hawke wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but Fenris _never_ missed Wicked Grace. There had to be a reason. What if the hunters had come back for him? What if Danarius himself finally showed up and she wasn't there to help him like she'd promised? 

By the time she got to his mansion, she had worked herself up enough that she didn't bother going round to the side door and instead burst through the front. "Fenris?" she called into the mansion, running up the stairs. "Fenris, are you here?"

When she stumbled into the master bedroom, he was sitting in his velvet chair with a bottle of wine propped up on his knee. He held it up and waved it at her. "Last bottle of the Agreggio," he said with a sideways smile. "I've been saving it for a special occasion."

Hawke sighed and tried to keep the relief out of her face as she entered and took the bottle from him. "Special occasion, hmmm?" She said, taking a drink. "And what might that be?"

"The anniversary of my escape," he said, taking the bottle back. " _Astia valla femundis_."

"Well, you do seem rather chipper about it."

"Shouldn't I be?" he said with a laugh. He took another drink before looking over at her as she sat down. "Care to hear the story?"

"Really?" she asked, one suspicious eyebrow arched. "You don't usually like to talk about this. You and I have never really been friends, Fenris."

"Ah, but I respect you, and you are the closest thing I have known to a friend," he said. "Perhaps that is enough."

There was a sadness about him that made her stomach uneasy. "Very well," she said, settling into her chair. "I'd love to hear it."

"Good," he said with a resolute nod and a lopsided grin. "There are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman."

"How many 'last bottles' had you gone through before I got here?"

He gave her a rather boyish chuckle. "This is the last one, I swear. Now, where to begin..." He told her of Danarius' trip to Seheron and the situation that ended with Fenris getting left behind on the island, taking time to detail the look on his master's face as the ship pulled away without his pet, and laughing bitterly to punctuate the sentence. 

"That's hardly escaping," Hawke chimed.

"Ah, but that is not my escape. That comes later," he continued. "It was months before Danarius finally came for me, and I was found by these... rebels that live in the jungles. They called themselves Fog Warriors. They were the only reason I survived. They took me in and nursed me back to health. They were... completely foreign to me. I did not understand them, yet I had grown fond of them. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom. I—I could not comprehend it. Slavery was all I'd ever known. I had never dreamed of the open air. I thought only of Danarius' desires and what the next hours would bring me. Cruel though he was, it was all I knew. I did not think I could be anything else, until I had a taste of it."

"And when Danarius came? They helped you escape?"

There was a long silence as Fenris took another drink. "They would have, had I let them."

"What?"

"They... would not let Danarius take me. They fought him for me, but... in the end..." He rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers. "Perhaps it was inevitable."

"Danarius killed them?"

"I killed them," he said, looking off to the side. "I killed them all."

Hawke hadn't been prepared for that. "What? Why?"

"I... do not expect you to understand," Fenris spat, rising to his feet and making his way to the fireplace. "You've spoken of powerlessness but... you know _nothing_." He drained the rest of the bottle and threw it into the fireplace, where it crackled and exploded. 

"I'm willing to listen, Fenris," Hawke said, looking at him as he leaned heavily on the mantle of the fireplace.

"You wouldn't understand." 

"Well, I certainly don't understand _now_ ," she defended. "I don't see how I can understand any less."

There were long moments of silence before he spoke. "It is more than powerlessness," he said finally, watching the flames as they danced in the hearth. "It is years and years of resentment and hatred. For as long as I can remember, the only kindnesses I received were the result of succumbing to my rage. He nurtured malice in me, and it haunts me: It is all I know how to feel. My entire life was spent learning to control it, to keep it hidden."

Fenris sighed and shook his head, keeping his eyes on the fire. "I do not fear Danarius," he added softly. "I fear _myself_ when he is near."

"He... made you kill them all?"

"I wonder," he said with a humorless laugh. "He did not hold a blade to my neck or a loved one hostage. He merely had to speak, and I was all too happy to lose myself in my hatred. Once the blood haze cleared and I had seen what I had done, I... I couldn't... I just ran."

Hawke was silent for a few moments to acknowledge the gravity of what Fenris was saying. Why was he telling her all of this? "Didn't he chase you?" she asked.

"He was wounded. He couldn't," he said with a shrug. "By the time he could mount the chase in earnest, I had stowed away on a ship headed east."

"Couldn't you have found other Fog Warriors?"

"To what end?" he snapped, whirling around. "To expose them to my madness? How many should I have killed before I gave in? How much innocent blood must I bathe in before I realize it is my weakness that is the problem? The monster is _inside_ me, Hawke, and I will not be free from it until Danarius is dead."

"How will his death free you anymore than you already are?"

"It will free me of my hate," he sneered. "It will dissipate my anger."

"Will it?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as she remained in her seat. "The only person who can free you from that is yourself."

"What do you know of it? Who are you to tell me—"

"Fenris," she said, putting her hands up defensively. "I'm not trying to fight you."

He exhaled an angry breath through his teeth before turning away from her again. "I am sorry," he said. "I suppose I have let the wine loosen my tongue too much." 

"We have all been there," she said softly, trying to sound comforting. She was at a loss, what could she possibly say to make this better? He was in so much pain, so obviously haunted. Her heart went out to him. 

He sighed and threw himself back into the chair beside her. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable," he said.

"It takes a lot more than old ghost stories to shake me, Fenris," she said, tucking her knees up against her chest in the chair. "You know me well enough to know that I don't scare easily."

He turned to look at her through the white hair that had fallen in front of his brow. "I... killed innocent people," he said. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me," she said with a sigh, leaning toward him on the arm of her chair. "But the world is not so simple that people are either good or they are bad. Life is much more complicated than that. You didn't kill those people, Fenris, Danarius did."

"It was my sword," Fenris snapped, pointing at himself.

"It was _his_ will," she shot back. "You didn't have a choice. You said yourself, it was inevitable."

"That hatred still lingers in the back of my mind... that same _weakness_." He spoke the last word as if it were a curse.

Hawke reached over and put her hand on his forearm, and he flinched as his markings came alight, making her jerk her hand away. "Oh, I'm sorry, I—"

"No, it..." his other hand caught hers and held it in place on his arm. "It's fine." 

Hawke watched the markings come alight under her hand and felt the electricity prickling her skin. She swallowed down the nerves that seemed to bunch up in her stomach and tried to remember what she was going to say. "I do not think you are weak, Fenris," she finally said, looking back up into his face.

He looked at her in silence, his eyebrows upturning, an absolute sadness in his eyes. "This... monster," he said softly. "It is a part of me, Hawke."

"And I will help you fight it," she said, moving her thumb back and forth on his arm and hoping it was comforting. "Just as I will help you fight Danarius himself."

"Thank you," he said after a pause. "Perhaps... Perhaps this is what it's like to have a friend."

"I should hope so," she said with a smile. 

He didn't say anything further, just looked at her, seemed to sketch the details of her face with his eyes, and in the silence she grew nervous under his gaze. 

"Now," she said. "You need to sleep off that wine." She patted his arm and stood, intending to leave him be, but Fenris grabbed her forearm and forced her to stop. Hawke turned back around slowly, looking down at him in the chair.

"Stay," he said. She thought it rather sounded like a question. "For a while," he added. 

She thought of the night Bethany was taken to the Circle, and how the last thing she had wanted was to be alone with her thoughts, cursing and blaming herself, haunting her own mind with her doubts. She thought about how Fenris had been there for her, let her talk to him until she fell asleep. She figured this was as good a chance as any to repay the favor. 

"Alright," she said, sitting back down. "Just for a while."

* * *

_Fenris stood in the laboratory with his hands clasped behind his back, as he always did when Danarius was experimenting. The little elf girl strapped to the table writhed and jerked. Her veins started to bulge out of her skin and hair started to grow all over her arms and shoulders. Her fingers contorted into long daggers and the sound that ripped from her throat was both bestial and frightened. Fenris imagined she was in a tremendous deal of pain before she died there on the experiment table._

_"Pathetic weakling," Danarius cursed in Tevene. "I will never figure out the key so long as these subjects refuse to survive the inoculation."_

_"Perhaps we should try the latest batch on him," Hadriana said, eyeing Fenris up and down. "It seemed promising enough."_

_"Don't be a fool," he spat, back-handing his first apprentice across the face. "I will not chance losing Fenris until we know the formula is safe."_

_Vexis, another apprentice, burst into the laboratory, dragging a small elven boy by the hair._

_"Magister," she said, throwing the boy at his feet._

_"What is it?" Danarius snapped._

_"Go on," Vexis said, prodding the boy with her foot. "Tell him what you told me."_

_"They—They've been cured, my lord," the boy stammered_

_"Who?" he barked, growing impatient. "And cured of what?"_

_"A Fereldan has cured the werewolves of their curse, my lord," the boy continued. "The whole city is talking about it."_

_Danarius picked the boy up by his shirt and shook him. "Who told you this?" he demanded. "Who!?"_

_"A man just in the docks, sir," the boy simpered, trying to pull away. "H-he said he was afflicted by the curse and was cured. He said all the werewolves are free, sir."_

_Danarius snapped his head to the side to look at Hadriana. "Find this man," he shouted. "Both of you, go. I want him here before sundown."_

_"At once," the two apprentices said, bowing before sprinting out of the room._

_Danarius threw the boy back onto the ground and Fenris simply watched, uninterested, as the frightened child scuttled out of the room._

_"All my work," Danarius said, turning to look at his lab table. "Years of study and work... gone."_

_Danarius stood perfectly still, his arms pressed against his sides, his hands squeezing into fists. The room around them darkened, the air went stagnant and frigid. A thunderclap echoed through the hall and the other slaves in the room began to cower. His chest heaved with his furious breath, but otherwise he stayed completely still. The large windows shattered as a horrible wind whipped through the chamber, picking up shards of glass and stinging whoever it touched._

_Fenris exhaled a complacent breath. Whenever Danarius raged, it never meant good things for him. Still, he knew that Danarius had only obsessed over the werewolf serum in order to curse Fenris with it and turn him into a monster on demand so he spared a moment to be grateful. Fenris attempted to keep the relief out of his face but — like he always did — Danarius saw into his very soul._

_The Magister charged Fenris and grabbed him by the silver collar with both hands and sneered. "This means nothing, do you hear me?" he growled. "I will not be derailed, Fenris."_

_"Yes, Master," he replied robotically._

_Danarius shook him by the collar. "Damn it, boy, you are mine to do with what I please. I will make you a monster if I have to tear down all of Tevinter to do it, do you understand?"_

_"Yes, Master."_

_Danarius slapped Fenris across the face, back and forth, four times._

_Fenris felt the anger rise in his chest but bit it down, fought the electricity in his markings._

_"You are a killer, Fenris," Danarius snarled, hitting him again._

_Fenris felt his markings come alight against his will and he clenched his jaw as he felt the adrenaline of rage pumping through his veins._

_"Yes," Danarius said, gently stroking his hair. "That's a good boy, Fenris. Let that anger out."_

_Fenris said nothing, just sneered angrily through his teeth._

_Danarius leaned forward, whispering into his ear. "Occideite eos omnes, Fenris."_

_The words echoed through Fenris' mind and he could feel himself losing control. His vision went red and his body shook against his rage. He snarled through his teeth, his hands flexing in anticipation._

_"Good boy," Danarius said, releasing his collar. "Now, kill that child before he gets out of the castle."_

* * *

When Fenris jolted awake, sitting in the same velvet chair he'd fallen asleep in, the first thing he became aware of was his splitting headache. He lifted his left hand to rub his eyes as if it would push the pain away and tried to piece together the previous night. 

The second thing he became aware of was the unfamiliar weight of something in his other hand. He opened his eyes one at a time, squinting against the bright light pouring into his window, before lowering his gaze to see what he'd somehow managed to hold onto throughout the night.

It was Hawke's hand. 

Fenris just stared at it, remaining perfectly still as if it were a sleeping viper. He thought perhaps he was still dreaming and the hand would disappear as awareness returned to him, but the longer he sat there the more solid the hand became. 

Admitting defeat, his eyes finally trailed from their joined hands up Hawke's arm until he was looking at her sleeping face. She was curled up on the chair next to him, her knees pulled tight against her chest and one arm under her head. Her other arm was stretched across the distance to his chair where her hand was wrapped in his. 

A thousand thoughts tried to shoot through his head, but it was in no condition to accommodate them. Instead he tried to figure out the best way of moving her hand without waking her, but his hangover was making it impossible for the majority of his ideas to even take full form.

He sat there for longer than he'd intended, growing annoyed by his concern about making sure his movements didn't rouse her. He sighed and sank further back into the chair, putting his chin in his free hand and looking down at their hands again. He could feel the dull hum of the lyrium reacting to her skin. Usually when someone caused his markings to react, it was uncomfortable and unwelcome; but with Hawke it was almost, for lack of a better word, comforting. He found solace in the fact that she still wasn't afraid of him, even after everything he had drunkenly confessed to her the previous night.

 _But she should be_ , Fenris thought. _She can't possibly understand._

He gently pulled his hand out from under hers, causing her to shift in her sleep and pull her hand back to her chest, but she didn't wake.

Fenris exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. 

Slowly, he stood and made his way to the window that looked out into the Chantry Courtyard. He leaned on the sill and watched as the people below him went about their daily routines, completely oblivious of real hardship. 

Fenris rubbed his forehead, trying to remember everything he had said to Hawke the previous night. He hadn't thought that she would notice him missing from Wicked Grace. Furthermore, he never thought she would come looking for him if she _did_ notice. He had never told anyone about the Fog Warriors; he'd never wanted to. After all, who would he trust?

He looked back over his shoulder to the rogue curled up like a cat on his chair. 

She hadn't been afraid of him... she hadn't even blamed him. Of course, she didn't know any better. She didn't know about how Danarius had trained him, she didn't know about the simple words his master had to speak to turn him into a shameful murderer. She didn't know about the monster he had been turned into, not really. She only knew him as a victim, someone she could protect, someone she could help. What a fool she was: empathetic, kind, and a fool.

He hoped — prayed maybe — that she would never see that side of him.

Hawke's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She stretched her arms out in front of her and made a soft groan against awakening. She looked around, obviously having forgotten where she was, and rubbed her eyes. 

"Good morning," Fenris rumbled. 

Her head snapped to him, and she smiled. "Oh, good morning," she said. 

The following silence made Fenris uncomfortable. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to thank her? To explain himself? To ignore the fact that she now knew more about him than anyone, save Danarius? 

She saved him the trouble by suddenly coming to a realization. "Shit, it's Fredas," she said, urgently going to the window Fenris was sitting at. 

"Yyyyessss..." he drawled out, almost as a question. He didn't know if she was just stating the day of the week or if it held some kind of meaning for her. 

"Lord, look at the sun — it's already mid-morning," she said, gathering her things and attempting to hurriedly make herself look more like a lady of the court. "Mother is going to have my ass for this. I'll catch up with you later," she said as she bolted out the door. Fenris didn't even have time to process what was happening, she was just... gone.

He looked at the empty doorway confused until he heard the side door slam and turned to watch her out the window, bolting down toward the Chantry.

 _Well_ , he thought. _I suppose that takes care of that._

* * *

" _There_ you are," Leandra sneered as Hawke burst through the door, looking a mess. 

Hawke didn't say anything, just hurried up the stairs to her room to change. Lord, this was the last thing she needed. She'd barely slept having to babysit Fenris through his drunken depression. She paused in the middle of lacing up one of her high-heeled boots as the memory danced through her head. She remembered her panic when she found he wasn't at Wicked Grace, and the relief when she saw he was safe. 

_You never did know how to pick your battles_ , she scolded herself as she continued to dress. Maybe she just had a soft spot for men with tremendous amounts of emotional baggage. _Well, that doesn't make sense_ , she thought. _Then I would also be attracted to Anders. Hah!_

She finished dressing and made her way back downstairs so her mother could fuss over her hair and makeup. Leandra made quite the production out of it, pulling her hair back too tight and applying more and more makeup.

"Honestly, Mother—"

"Hold still, girl." 

Hawke complied, with no small amount of rolling her eyes. She had no idea why her mother insisted _she_ had to attend all of these ridiculous society functions. Wasn't it enough that one Amell was in attendance? This double life she was leading was exhausting. 

Her mind wandered to the good old days when she used to just... rob people.

Of course, her mother didn't care about that, only that she represented the Amell name appropriately for a noblewoman. What a mess it all was. She spent her days pretending to be something she hated and her nights working for _people_ she hated. How did she even get herself into this mess?

"There," Leandra said, finally content with Anara's makeup. "It'll have to do. Honestly how do you ever expect to find a husband by pick-pocketing your way through Thedas?"

"Are you going to lecture me, or are we going to go to this party amassing outside our door?" 

"You are lucky that the brunch is in the Keep Square and we need only to step outside to be in attendance. If you'd managed to make us any later, I'd scarce be able to show my face."

"Well... thank the Maker for that, then."

* * *

Fenris was having a hard time falling back asleep, what with the ruckus outside in the square. At least that's what he told himself, trying to ignore that he'd been thinking about Hawke since she left. He lay in his bed, shielding his eyes from the sunlight with an arm, and running the events of the previous night over in his head for something like the millionth time.

_"I do not think you are weak, Fenris."_

_"This... monster. It is a part of me, Hawke."_

_"And I will help you fight it, just as I will help you fight Danarius himself."_

Why did she even care? Honestly, this human and her kindnesses, forcing them upon him unbidden; it was frustrating. 

But she didn't force them on him, he had asked her to stay.

He scoffed and got out of bed, disgusted with himself for appearing so pathetic. He had kept to himself on the anniversaries of his escape for this very reason. What was she doing coming to find him when he very obviously wanted to be left alone? It was like no matter what he did, she insisted on inserting herself into his affairs. Honestly, how could he even consider such a flagrant mage sympathizer a friend? She obviously didn't understand his plight as much as she wanted him to believe if she still turned a blind eye on the apostate's vicious ways. 

Bah, he needed to stop thinking about it. Hawke had acted as if it had been nothing important, he should simply do the same. 

Fenris made his way out of his bedroom and into the adjoining room that overlooked the Keep Courtyard, and leaned heavily on the window sill. A large gathering of nobles had assembled in the square for another frivolous party to celebrate their class superiority. He was quite familiar with these gatherings — it seemed there was one every week in Tevinter — and he still found them to be a disturbing display: groups of humans showing off for one another, sticking out their chests and strutting about to display their dominance. It was more like an over-dressed chicken coop than a gathering of Kirkwall's elite. 

Fenris picked out Hawke immediately. Amidst all the painted feathers and grand gestures, she was the only one not drawing attention to herself, rather ironically making her stand out to him. She was certainly eye-catching with her hair bound in tight curls and her lips and eyes painted to match her deep purple dress, but not deliberately so. Her posture called no attention, she made eye contact with no one and instead chose to focus on her surroundings, darting her eyes from person to person or focusing on a distant horizon. It was clear to Fenris she wanted no part of this. 

He laughed and moved onto his elbows as he watched. She was almost literally a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her center of gravity never shifted as she walked, her eyes were ever observant and sharp, and her hands stayed linked behind her back or clasped in front of her. Hawke may have been pretending to be someone else entirely, but she could not change who she was. While the roosters probably saw her as meek and prudish, Fenris saw a hunter: a jungle cat prowling through a family of lambs. 

He smiled to himself. Even if they would never truly be friends, Fenris was glad she thought they were. She was a valuable ally, and had proven herself to be a dangerous enemy.


	17. The Ruse

Fenris and Varric joined the rest of their usual party at the Hanged Man once they had gotten done with their business on the Wounded Coast with the intention of waiting for Aveline and Hawke to deliver news of how they fared. 

"Well?" Isabella asked, a curious eyebrow arched. "How did Hawke's little plan to play matchmaker go?"

"About as you'd expect with the likes of us involved," Varric said with a wicked grin. 

"If Aveline had been drowning," Fenris said as he took a seat, "Varric threw her the metaphorical anchor."

"Nonsense," Varric said with a grandiose wave of his hand. "I was _helping_."

"Oh dear," Anders groaned sympathetically. "What did you do?"

"Well, she was doing such a fantastic job talking about everything other than what she went there to say; the poor sod simply _asked_ what was going on and I had to intervene." Varric sighed for effect. "Honestly, she’s had so many chances at this point — after murdering a bunch of bandits for her, I wasn’t about to let her avoid it again.”

Anders groaned. “I imagine you used your usual amount of _tact_ in the matter.”

“That is not the word I would have used,” Fenris added.

“What did you say, Varric?” Merrill asked, genuinely curious.

Varric waited the appropriate amount of dramatic silence, drumming his fingers on the table until he was sure he had everyone’s attention. “Allow me to show you on the doll where she wants to touch you.”

Isabella burst out laughing and Anders, while smiling, at least tried not to. Fenris thought Merrill looked rather like she didn't quite understand the joke, smiling only because Isabella was laughing. 

"Poor Aveline," Anders lamented. "Hawke never should have brought the likes of you."

"She'll be alright," Varric added with a shrug. "Avelinewill bounce back." 

"It isn't all that bad," Isabella said, elbowing Anders in the side. "She was already crashing and burning long before this."

"Unlike you," Anders said, "I don't take pleasure in Aveline's misfortunes."

"Don't be like that, Ducky. I take pleasure in _everyone's_ misfortunes," she said, winking at him. "Besides, I was in the tavern for her complete failure to even speak to him when Hawke lured him here."

"Oh, that was awful," Merrill said, shaking her head. "Poor Aveline. She was so nervous."

"You should have seen her," Isabella continued, laughing as she spoke. "'I don't want him to think of me as the captain', she said. Then she shows up to the bloody pub in her _armor_!" 

"Well, not all of us are so fluently trained in spreading our legs, whore."

"Well, hello, big girl," Isabella said, tossing a smile to Aveline and Hawke as they entered. "Heard Varric helped you put your foot in your mouth."

"She needed no help there," Hawke said, giving Aveline a friendly nudge with her elbow.

"I won't argue that," Aveline conceded as she made her way toward a seat. 

"Well, now, don't keep us in suspense, serah," Varric said, leaning back in his chair. "Did SerDonnic file a complaint like you'd thought?"

Aveline very obviously fought a smile before simply saying, "No. He didn't."

The whole table cheered and lifted their glasses toward her. Fenris didn't cheer, but smiled as he lifted his mug. It was becoming harder and harder not to participate in the camaraderie between them all. Plus, he'd always liked Aveline. He was glad to see things go her way.

"Fenris," Aveline said in greeting, taking the seat beside him.

"Captain," he replied with a nod. 

"Thank you for that tip, earlier," she said with a smile. "Found an entire _nest_ of slave runners working out of the Undercity."

"Did you, now?" Fenris asked, a slow grin spreading across his face. "And I suppose they are to spend the rest of their days in a cold, hard cell?"

"I'm afraid they _resisted_ arrest," Aveline said, shaking her head slowly, pretending to be rather stricken over it. "Sadly, none of them ever made it to the gallows."

"You always know how to make me smile, Aveline."

Aveline grinned and tapped her mug against his. 

"It's rare to see you down here with us," Fenris added after he took a drink. "Hawke says you've been quite busy with your duties of late."

"Yes, well, Hawke lies."

"I… beg your pardon?"

"It's not that I am _not_ busy. I am. But Hawke is my friend. She is dear to me. We escaped the blight together; we made a home here together. I... I was there when they lost Carver... she was there when I lost Wesley." She sighed and looked over at the laughing girl in question. "I would never be too busy for her. She's just protecting me."

"Perhaps that is for the best," he offered. "We are not always on the right side of the law, you know."

"True enough, but Hawke has a good moral compass. I don't think she would ever do anything I would object to."

"I am not so certain."

Aveline leaned her head sideways and narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Did she ever tell you about the day they took Bethany?"

Aveline sighed. "A little.She doesn’t like to talk about it."

"I was there," he said, looking down into his mug. "I remember it vividly; the strain in their voices, the trembling in her hands. I had never seen her like that, you understand. She’s always so…”

“Cold?”

“I was going to say closed,” he said with a small smile. “In any case, she threatened to kill everyone in the gallows should they attempt to make her sister tranquil.”

“I see,” Aveline said, turning her eyes back to Hawke. “And you don’t think she was just trying to comfort Bethany?”

He pondered that for a moment, running the memory over in his head. “I don’t see how anyone who could have seen it, heard the way she said it, could possibly doubt her conviction.”

Aveline sighed and took a long drink of her mead. “I will say this for her: she is loyal to a fault.”

"A fault, indeed. Her 'moral compass' is compromised when it comes to the people she cares most about. I have warned her many times that her foolish kindnesses will get the best of her one day."

"I'm sure you’re right," Aveline admitted with a laugh, "but I wouldn't have her any other way."

Fenris found Hawke on the other side of the room, laughing with Isabella at something Merrill had said that the elf obviously hadn’t intended to be funny. She wasn’t in her usual rogue’s garb and was wearing the casual vest, shirt, and trousers she’d started favoring since her public persona made an appearance. 

He thought it would be in bad taste to say it aloud, but Fenris found he agreed with Aveline. Hawke’s kindness and loyalty _would_ come back to bite her, and they would prove to be shortcomings in the end. Yet without them she just… wouldn’t be Hawke.

* * *

“I never got the opportunity to thank you,” Fenris said as he walked with Hawke back toward Hightown that night. They had been walking in companionable silence so when Fenris finally spoke she seemed startled. 

“What for?” she asked.

“For…” he gestured a hand toward the direction of the mansion as they walked, “babysitting me, I suppose, through my drunken storytelling.” 

She laughed and tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear. “You don’t need to thank me. You’ve done the same for me in the past.”

“I’ve done no such thing, and I am appalled by your assumption of my patience.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the night Bethany was taken to the Circle,” she said, her tone light, almost whimsical considering the weight of the subject.

“I do not see how I could forget,” he said honestly. “Though I don’t see the similarity.”

“I wouldn’t have slept at all without you,” she said, looking up at the stars. “You let me talk to you, distracted me from myself until I was able to fall asleep. I may not have been drunk, but it was the same principle.”

He looked at her as she looked at the sky, studying the finer points of her face as he considered her words. “Regardless,” he said, turning his attention back to their route, “I am still inclined to thank you. I also appreciate your discretion. I, erm… I’ve never exactly…”

“Don’t strain yourself,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. “Your secrets are safe with me, Fenris. You don’t need to worry that—”

Fenris looked up at her when she stopped short, then followed her shocked eye line to the dagger embedded through a piece of paper stuck in her front door. The dagger was speared through a crudely drawn Hawk painted on the paper.

The levity between them evaporated instantly. 

“It can’t be,” she said quickly before running for her door, Fenris hot on her heels. She looked around for witnesses before pulling the dagger out of the door and tearing the paper off of it. 

“You think someone’s realized?”

“They couldn’t have, I’ve been so careful, we’ve – wait, look at this.” She turned the paper over and saw there was a message on the back of it.

“What does it say?” he asked quickly, hoping she assumed he couldn’t see the writing well from his vantage point, instead of the truth. 

“It says… it says they know the Hawk has returned and that he was connected to the Amell family. This… this is from Darrin.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know who that is,” he said. He thought that much was obvious but Hawke was obviously not paying attention to him and he was trying to keep her on subject.

“He’s… this—this loan shark racketeer back in Ferelden. He—he’s the reason—”

“Calm yourself,” Fenris demanded gently, taking Hawke’s bicep in his hand and pulling her into her own house, out of the sight of anyone who might be out and about. He shut them inside the front parlor where the last vestiges of a fire still burned in the hearth. He sat Hawke down on the nearest chair and stood in front of her. “Tell me what’s happening.”

She exhaled and dropped her face into her hands, propping her elbows on her knees. “After my father died, Carver started gambling. Darrin was his creditor, he’s the reason we’ve assumed the Amell name. Carver told us when he… when the ogre…” She cleared her throat and sat back in her chair. “We knew they would come after us if they found out Carver was dead, demand we pay his debt in his stead.”

“How much did Carver owe them?”

“According to this, ten thousand sovereigns. Plus two years of interest.” She exhaled as she scanned over the document again. “He says that they will consider the debt paid if the Hawk agrees to work for them. If not, Anara and Bethany will pay the price.”

“How did he connect the Hawk to the Amells?”

“It’s common knowledge we were working with Bethany for a time, especially once she was taken to the circle and the Hawk disappeared.”

He sank back on a heel and crossed his arms. “What do you want to do?” he asked simply. 

“They want us to send ‘the Hawk’ to a cave on the Wounded Coast tomorrow night. I’ll be damned if I’m going to… to _kowtow_ to some loan shark.”

“That clearly was never an option,” Fenris said with a small smile. “So what _are_ our options?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking up at him and shaking her head slightly. “I need… I need to change. I need to go into the gallows and check on Bethany. Then I’ll… figure something out.”

“Very well. Should you need me…”

“I know where you live,” she said with a smile, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Fenris.”

“What are friends for?”

* * *

Fenris paced back and forth across his bedroom the next night, hands clasped behind his back and wondering where in the hell Hawke was. He’d been expecting her to come recruit him for whatever she was going to do about the creditor. He knew she wasn’t about to accept the offer given to her, and if she planned to fight, why wouldn’t she bring him? She _always_ brought him on missions that involved combat. Perhaps she didn’t need him. Perhaps she’d decided on stealth as the resolution, but how? There was nothing to be stolen, nothing for her to pilfer. What could she do from the shadows? No, she needed to take a stand; it was the only logical conclusion.

Why did she think she could just leave him behind? Furthermore, why was he so _angry_ that she had? He wasn’t her _father_ ,he had no right to _demand_ she bring him along. Just because he was there when she discovered the threat didn’t mean she was required to inform him of the conclusion. She was perfectly capable of handling her affairs on her own; she didn’t _need_ him, or _anyone_ for that matter. He snatched one of the many empty bottles of wine off the ground and, in the same fluid motion, threw it across the room so it shattered against the brick of the mantle. 

This was ridiculous. She wasn’t his _friend_ she was his colleague. Not even that, she was… she was just some random adventurer… who happened to know his deepest, darkest secret, who saved his life and treated him like a person and not a freak. 

He pounded a fist into the wall. 

Damn it, _she_ was the one who was always insisting they were friends. She was the one who inserted herself in his private affairs and always sought him out. She was the one always getting him to talk and poking and prodding him, pushing him toward the edge and taking him out of himself. Yet when _she_ needed help, she conveniently takes it on herself? Typical. She was a hypocrite, he decided, for leaving him behind. 

He was in quite the frenzy when his fury was interrupted by a knocking on the back door.

“It’s about damned time,” he swore through his teeth as he bolted down the stairs and flung the door open. It was Hawke, like he’d expected, though she was joined by Isabela and Merrill, and they were clothed head to toe in black.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, holding up a black hood. “How’s your acting?”

* * *

“I don’t think he’s comin’, boss,” Jack said, picking dirt out of his fingernails with his dagger. 

“He’ll be here,” Darrin returned. “Stay on your guard. I’ve heard this Hawk character is wily.”

“I’ve ‘eard he’s a demon sent from hell,” Joseph said. 

“Rubbish.”

“What I want to know is,” Charlie said. “What makes you think Carver’s family can convince the Hawk? I heard the dwarf called the shots.”

“Well we don’t have any leverage over the dwarf,” Darrin spat. “So we’ll just have to hope those rumors of the Hawk shagging the mage girl were accurate.”

“And if they aren’t?”

“Then we’ll bleed the sisters and the mother for what they’ve got. You saw that house. They’ve got to have a tidy — what the…”

The wall torches they’d set up all blew out at the same time, casting the cave in practically pitch darkness, other than the streaks of moonlight leaking in through the cracks. 

“What’s going on?”

“What happened?”

“Calm down, you ninnies,” Darrin demanded. “Someone light a torch.”

There was fumbling and crashing into crates as someone finally managed to get a torch lit. There was a figure, shrouded in black, standing in the middle of their encampment. The four men near it all jumped back, falling over each other or their own feet. It towered so high Darrin didn’t think it could possibly be a person, but when it turned toward them, golden eyes ablaze from within the black shroud, a chill settled over him. 

“ **Which one of you is Darrin?** ”a voice bellowed. It was deep like thunder and seemingly coming from all directions at once, filling the entire space. 

Darrin swallowed and straightened his spine, taking his daggers from his back. “You the one they call the Hawk, then? I didn’t think you’d show.”

“ **I am here on the behest of the Amell family.** ”

“Then… then you’re going to work for me, I suppose?”

Lightning struck within the cave and the torch blew out again. A low, menacing chuckle echoed through the room as the figure moved in a flash. Someone on the other end of the room screamed and Darrin felt his blood run cold. Lightning flashed again and he turned around, looking up at the towering figure as it loomed over him.

“ **Fool,** ” it growled, advancing on him and making him stumble backward. “ **You dare attempt to control me? You think yourself worthy, do you, mortal?** ”

“N-now… now listen here…” Darin stuttered.

“ **No,** ” it said calmly. “ **You listen.** ”

Another flash of lightning cracked through the darkness, and this time two screams from somewhere within the cave. 

“Oh, god, what is it?”

“I said it was a demon, didn’t I?”

“He’s going to kill us all!”

“Get it together,” Darrin demanded, his voice desperate even to his own ears. “It’s just a man!”

“ **Do not presume to know me, human.** ” 

There was another scream, but now they were getting closer to him. Darrin couldn’t see much, just vague figures or the crates sitting in the cracks of the moonlight. He didn’t know where the exit was, didn’t know where to run even if he thought he could get away. 

“ **Did you think that I would bow?** ” The voice grew hard, scathing under its anger. “ **Did you think you could control me? Do you have any idea what I am!?** ”

“Please!” Someone screamed.

“Oh god, it got Flynn!”

“We’ve gotta get out of here!”

“ **Insignificant mortals, you have brought my wrath down upon you. There is no escape.** ” 

Another flash of lightning, and another round of screams. Darrin started to swipe blindly with his daggers. “Retreat,” he shouted, running in a random direction and tripping over a corpse. He faceplanted into the dirt and rolled over onto his back as another bolt of light shot through the cave, and the last thing Darrin saw was the cold, unfeeling, golden eyes of the Hawk.

* * *

“Oi,” Isabella said, once all the bandits had been killed, rolling out her neck. “Next time I get to stand on _your_ shoulders.”

Hawke laughed, holding a lit torch as she started to rifle through Darrin’s pockets. “We both know you’re stronger than me. I’ll crumble under you like a wall made of crackers.”

“ **Does this mean we can come down now?** ” Fenris asked from his spot up near the ceiling, his voice still echoing through the small space, bouncing off the walls and making it sound like it was coming from every direction. 

“ **That was fun,** ” Merrill’s light voice trilled through the cave as she peeked over the little cliff of rocks her and Fenris were hiding on. “ **I’ve never scared someone before.** ” 

“ **I find that hard to believe,** ” Fenris returned.

“I know you scared the daylights out of _me_ ,” Hawke said with a small laugh. “You almost hit me with one of those lightning strikes. I think you singed my cloak.”

“Oh, did I?” she asked as she climbed down. “I’m sorry; I’m not used to casting that spell in closed quarters like this. I suppose I’m also not used to trying not to hit people.”

“You did great, Kitten,” Isabella crooned, sparing a moment to look up from where she was looting one of the bandits. “Your strikes were perfectly timed.”

“Indeed they were,” Hawke said, pulling out a journal from Darrin’s pack and thumbing through it. “I’ll admit the execution got a little sloppy, but your timing was impeccable.”

Merrill blushed and ducked her head. “Thanks. I’m just glad I could help.”

“I think this is the first time you’ve brought me along when I _didn’t_ kill someone,” Fenris said after he’d jumped down from the rocky perch. 

“Disappointed?” Hawke asked, closing the journal and standing.

“Surprised,” he corrected. “Our usual plans of attack don’t usually require so much…”

“Bullshit?” Isabela asked. 

“I was going to say finesse,” he added.

“Don't pretend you didn't have fun," Hawke said with a laugh, looking at her comrades covered head to toe in shroud, only their eyes peeking out. Fenris had pieces of white hair poking out from under his hood. She was glad she decided to make them all dress the part. Fenris’ hair would have stood out like a beacon in the darkness. 

“You look good in black, Fenris,” Isabela said, standing and moving on to a new corpse. 

“I _always_ wear black,” he droned. 

“Fine. You look good in _all_ black.”

“I thought you said I’d look good in everything?”

“Especially nothing, I imagine.”

“Moving on,” Anara said with a groan.

"Do you want us to chase after the stragglers?" Fenris asked, pointing a thumb back at the exit where a few of the bandits had managed to escape.

"Leave them," Hawke said, smiling behind her mask. "They'll be good for business."

* * *

Once they arrived back in Kirkwall, Merrill joined Isabela for a drink at the Hanged Man, and Hawke decided to go home to look through Darrin’s journal. Fenris had no particular reason for wanting to go home, but he walked with Hawke back to Hightown anyway.

“So, what is it?” he asked as he watched her flip through a few pages.“A diary?”

“It looks like a ledger,” she said. She kept her mask and hood on and spoke quietly just in case anyone was about. She was dressed as the Hawk, after all, she had to remain cognizant of that. “It’s a record of everyone who owed him money and their addresses. Schedules on when he sends lackeys to collect for him, things like that.”

“I suppose you’re going to burn it?”

“Probably. I might go as far as to write to the people who still owe him and let them know they’ve been released from their debt.”

“That sounds like quite the undertaking. Why put forth so much effort for people you don’t know?”

She closed the book and tucked it under her arm, scanning their surroundings as she thought over her answer. “Before the blight, Carver came to me asking for me to help him pay his debt to Darrin. He was my little brother, of course, so I wanted to help him, but with our father gone I was already struggling just to keep everyone fed.” She looked down at the ground and cleared her throat. “So, I told him he was on his own. He’d gotten himself into the mess, he was going to have to get himself out.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Fenris offered. 

“I suppose that’s neither here nor there,” she said with a shrug. “My point is that I saw him when the debt had piled up so high that it looked like a physical weight on him. He was always looking over his shoulders and jumping every time someone knocked on our door. He’d even been _sleeping_ poorly and before any resolution was to be had…”

“The blight was upon you.”

“Yes,” she sighed, looking up at the sky in that way she did when she was thinking, almost as if she was searching the stars for answers. “If I had agreed to help him, maybe he wouldn’t have been so exhausted… so paranoid.” 

_Maybe he wouldn’t have died._

She didn’t have to say it, the words hung in the air around them. He could read it from her posture, from the way her eyes searched the sky and her soft voice trembled. He wanted to comfort her, the way she had done for him on the anniversary of his escape, but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how. He ran over the events of that night, going through the things she’d said and done to make him feel better.

_I don’t think you’re a monster, Fenris._

“Anyway,” she said, before he could figure out something comforting to say. “If I can prevent that happening to someone else, I’d like to. Maybe, if they’re smart, they’ll look at it as a fresh start and run the straight and narrow rather than falling back into gambling.”

“How uncharacteristically optimistic of you,” he said.

“Perhaps I am an optimist at heart, grown weary and jaded by the tribulations of life.”

“You sound like the heroine of one of Varric’s novels.”

“Oh, Maker, don’t tell me you read that tripe.”

He chuckled. “Indeed I don’t,” he said truthfully, knowing well he couldn’t even if he’d wanted to. “Isabela and Varric were brainstorming the other night and I simply had the misfortune to overhear.”

“Ah, my sympathies.”

“Yes, thank you,” he said with a dramatic sigh, though he smiled as he did it. “I assume that, given your current state of dress, you will be sneaking into your home?”

“I suppose I must,” she said, looking up at the darkened mansion as they approached. “Can’t have people seeing me go through the front door, after all.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you, Fenris, for helping me with this. I try not to bring my personal problems into our adventures but—”

“It was no trouble,” he interrupted. “I am always glad to be of assistance.”

She smiled behind her mask and nodded before turning to head toward her home.

Before he could think better of it, he reached out and snatched her gloved hand in his and forced her to turn back around. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what he was trying to do, and he opened his mouth and then shut it again when no words came out. She looked down at their hands and then back up at his face, her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied his expression. 

“Fenris?”

“Your brother,” he blurted quickly. He cleared his throat and rolled out one of his shoulders, forcing himself to swallow down his nerves. “You mustn’t blame yourself. I know I have no authority on the matter, and I know that I never knew him, but I know _you_ , Hawke. You are _good,_ and you only ever try to do the right thing. I will admit that sometimes I disagree with your choices, but I always trust in your judgment. Your moral compass is sound, Hawke, and Carver’s death should not rest on your conscience.”

If it weren’t for how her eyes widened, he would have said she hadn’t reacted at all, and they stood there for many tense, silent moments. For a moment Fenris thought he’d failed, over spoke and made her uncomfortable. He never claimed to be good at this sort of thing. 

Hawke turned her hand in his so that she could hold his back and give it a soft squeeze. “Thank you,” she said softly, softer than how she had been speaking earlier. “You’re a good friend, Fenris.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, smiling a little. “I haven’t the most experience with it, after all.”

“Well, then you’re obviously a natural.” She slowly slipped her hand out of his. “Goodnight, Fenris.”

“Goodnight, Hawke.”


	18. The Book

Fenris paced back and forth across the bedroom of his mansion with his arms behind his back. He hadn’t been able to relax since Aveline’s little visit that afternoon alerting him that people had been making inquiries about him. She assured him that it was probably just nobility wondering who he was and how he could afford the mansion. Fenris managed to keep his cool for the remainder of the meeting, but it couldn't be ignored. 

... It could be Danarius.

Of course it wouldn't be him directly, but his hirelings and hunters. He would need to be careful. Even if it turned out to be nothing, he would rather err on the side of caution. If Danarius had people in the city, Fenris needed to make sure he was on his guard. He was furious that he’d been completely taken aback by Aveline’s news. He’d gotten sloppy over the months, spending time with Hawke and her companions; he’d lost sight of what was important.

He’d lost sight of his freedom.

What kind of fool was he? He’d been spending so much time with Hawke, trekking through the Wounded Coast, running round the Free Marches looking for trouble. He’d actually started thinking of himself as a free man, with free time, and free will. Aveline's information had jarred him from a dream, a dream where he was normal, a dream where he wasn't hunted. The fact that it had taken him so by surprise enraged him.

"Fenris?" said Hawke from his bedroom door. 

He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts, and his rage, that he hadn't heard her come in. Though he rarely did, now that he thought about it, no one could sneak up on him like Hawke. 

"Are you alright?" she asked, making no move toward him. "I knocked but you didn't answer."

Oh. She hadn't even been trying to sneak in. Perhaps he _was_ just getting too comfortable.

"Y-yes," he said, clearing his throat. "I was just... lost in my thoughts."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing. Did you need something?" He silently kicked himself for being short with her, and the concern read plainly on her face but she didn't make comment on it.

"Well, no, not exactly. I have something for you, that's all. I was going to give it to you last night at the pub, but it slipped my mind." She rummaged through her pack and pulled a book out of it. "I found it in the Alienage. I thought you might like it."

He felt his entire body go tense and rigid as he looked at the book in her hand. She was holding it out to him, but he didn’t take it, just stared at it like he thought it was going to bite him.

"It's about Shartan," she continued, her eyebrows upturning with concern as she motioned the book toward him. "The elf who helped Andraste free the slaves? I'd assumed you knew about him."

"Of _course_ I know about him," Fenris barked, snatching the book out of her hand. "What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"What? I don’t—"

"But, what I know I certainly didn't learn from _books,”_ he said, turning away from her slightly as he started to pace again. “Do you think it is common practice to teach _slaves_ to read?"

Her expression dropped with understanding. "Oh. I didn’t even think of that, I—"

"Obviously not," he snapped. 

"Fenris,” she said gently, approaching him like a stranger approaching a wild dog. “I have an entire library now, I could easily teach you to—”

"Is _that_ what this is?" he growled, wheeling on her. "'Let's teach the poor slave to read?'"

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Her features darkened, eyes narrowing and jaw setting as she glared up at him with that same old frigidness she had used when they met. Hawke hadn't looked at Fenris like that in... well, _years_ it felt like.

“You know very well that is not what this is,”

"Am I not assimilating fast enough for you, Hawke?" he asked, tossing the book back at her. "Am I not learning and adapting to your liking?"

“Well, by all means, why learn to read when you can stew in your own ignorance?"

"Do not talk down to me."

"I have _never_ talked down to you, Fenris, not once since I have known you," she sneered, poking him in the chest. "I have _never_ treated you like a slave and I have _never_ called you thus. The only one keeping you down is the voice in your head. Do not take your frustrations out on me."

"The voice in my head?" he mimicked with a scoff. "The voice in my head did not bring me a book, _Hawke_."

"The voice in your head is what tells you that you’ll never read it, _slave_."

He froze, looking at her wide-eyed before his features furrowed and his jaw set. "What did you just say?" he asked, low and threatening.

"Oh, have I gotten the slave's attention?"

He closed the distance between them, looming over her. "Say it again," he growled. "Call me a slave one more time, Hawke."

"You obviously aren't _free,_ Fenris. A free man is not defined by his shortcomings. A free man does what he wishes with the skills and assets he has available to him. Since you are _clearly_ not free, you must still be a sla—"

Fenris shoved her against the wall and pinned her there by a hand on her chest. "I am _not_ a slave!" he roared

"Aren't you?" she asked, just as loudly, refusing to let him intimidate her.

_"No!"_

"Prove it." She slammed the book into his chest, staring up at him defiantly.

He looked down into her frigid, sharp face and wondered how she got into his head so easily. His chest heaved with his angry breath and his furious eyes searched hers for the words he was unable to find on his own. Their faces were so close he could feel her breath on his skin and the prickling of his lyrium reacting to her proximity.

She seemed to read the conflict from his face because her features softened as she continued to hold the book against his chest. “Fenris, I may not have always _liked_ you, but I have always, _always_ respected you.”

There was a long silence as he felt his eyebrows upturning and he lifted a hand to cover hers against the book. "I am sorry," he said finally, lowering his gaze to the small sliver of floor between them. "You are not to blame for my deficiencies."

"They are only deficiencies if you let them _stay_ that way. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"That is easy to say when you are capable and intelligent," he said, releasing her from the wall and turning to walk away. "Hawke, I had to pay a small child to read me the letter you left last year. A child can do what I cannot."

“Fenris, you can’t judge your own skills based on what others can do. Everyone’s circumstances are different. You don’t know how to do what I do, just as I can’t do what you do. You simply can’t compare the two because we are completely different.”

“Sneaking through the shadows as you do is hardly knowledge as basic as reading,” he shot back.

She was silent for a long time after that. "Can you swim?" she asked finally. 

He turned to look at her sideways. "Do not make fun of me, Hawke. Swimming is a physical activity, it takes little brain power. You cannot compare something as simple as swimming to—" He stopped when he noticed how the word 'simple' made her flinch, which made him turn all the way around. "You... you don't know how to swim?"

"No, Fenris,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don't."

“Wait… Bethany knew how to swim. She used to tell stories about—”

“Yes, both of my younger siblings learned.”

"But not you?"

"No."

He narrowed his eyes, knowing full well the confusion read plainly on his face as he tried to figure out answers to the unspoken questions.

"I fell through the ice when I was very young," she admitted with a sigh, looking everywhere but his face. "My father pulled me out just in time, but I was never able to go back in." 

"Have you tried to learn since?”

"No it-it’s not…” she rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not as simple as that for me. I can't even get in the water, I… I freeze up." She shook her head, and Fenris saw the shame in her face because he was all-too familiar with it. She cleared her throat and finally settled her gaze back on him. “Look, the point is I know what it’s like to lack a skill that seems to come naturally to everyone else. The difference is that _yours_ is easily remedied.”

He exhaled through his nose and approached her, looking at the book in his hands. Perhaps it was his pride that didn’t like the idea of having Hawke teach him to read, imposing on her to cure his own ignorance. A trade, however, didn’t seem quite as pathetic.

"If I let you teach me to read," he said, trailing his eyes up to hers. "Will you allow me to teach you to swim?"

"What?” she asked, eyes wide with panic. “No. Absolutely not.”

"It's a fair trade, Hawke," he said with a small smile. "You know it is."

"It is no such thing," she said with a stomp. "I can _drown,_ Fenris, books can’t _kill_ people."

"I could very easily kill a man with a book if I had to."

"Oh, shut up. You know what I mean."

"Hawke, I can help you. I would never let you drown.”

“You greatly underestimate my fear, Fenris. It isn’t… it’s not just a matter of putting me in the water and teaching me to paddle about like a duck. It took me years before I could even take a _bath_ by myself.”

“Are you recommending I start by bathing with you?” he asked, a playful eyebrow arched. He found he was much more comfortable with the conversation now that it wasn’t about _his_ deficiency, but hers.

“You’re not funny,” she spat.

“Hawke,” he said. “You’re afraid, I understand that. Let us compromise.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

“You teach me how to read,” he said, motioning the book in his hand. “In return, when you decide that you’d like to _attempt_ to conquer your fear of the water, you come to me to help you do it. I will not force you, Hawke, but if you are going to teach me something, I would like to at least have the possibility of returning the favor.”

She pondered that for a while, hands on her hips and rolling her tongue over her teeth, before pointing at him. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone I will beat you so hard the only thing left will be a tall, brooding imprint of lyrium in the dirt, do you understand?”

Fenris held his hands up in mock surrender. “Trust me, Hawke, the last thing I want to do is betray the confidence of the only person in Kirkwall who knows my secrets.”

“Fine,” she said, her pointing finger turning into an outstretched hand. “Deal.”

He put his free hand in hers and shook it, smiling despite himself.

She groaned. “I feel like I’m going to regret this.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

* * *

"Was this an emergency?" Hawke said, tapping her foot impatiently in Varric's private room. "I am kind of expecting someone."

"Calm your feathers, Birdie," Varric said, taking his seat next to Isabella and Merrill at the table. "I've got an important letter from the Viscount."

"The Viscount?" she repeated, holding her hand out expectantly. "We haven't heard from him in months."

"I know," Varric said, removing the missive from his inside coat pocket. "Looks like the sooner we can meet with him, the better."

Hawke quickly scanned her eyes over the letter, which requested little more than their presence and alluded to no details. "What do you think it's about?" she asked after she’d finished.

“My best guess is more Qunari trouble.”

"Always with the Qunari," Isabella groaned, leaning back in her chair to put her feet up on the table. 

"I concur," Hawke said, rubbing her eyes. "I just wish I knew what they were here for so we could get them out of here."

"They make me nervous," Isabella said. 

"They're making everyone nervous," Varric added. "If it's war they want, we are ill-prepared."

"If it's war they want," Fenris said as he entered the room, "there will be no mercy. The city will fall."

"Right on time, Fenris," Hawke scoffed. "I just ordered a tall glass of sunshine."

"He's a tall glass of something, alright," Isabella said, tilting her head to the side. 

"Are those..." Fenris narrowed his eyes at Isabella, making Hawke follow his eye line. "Are those the abomination's feathered pauldrons?"

"They are," Isabella sang, wiggling her shoulders back and forth to illustrate. "I think they look wonderful on me."

"You think everything and every _one_ looks wonderful on you," Hawke offered. 

"This is true," she said. 

**"Where are they?"** Anders bellowed from the front room. 

"Oh, this is going to be good," Hawke said, turning to lean against the wall and inconspicuously pick invisible dirt out of her fingernails.

Everyone turned to the door as Anders burst through it, soaking wet and wearing a rather revealing pink dress. It was slit all the way up the sides and seemed to be made completely out of lace and silk. The neckline was split in a deep V down to his navel and his face was so flushed even his throat was red. 

The whole room burst into laughter, Isabella had put a hand on Hawke's shoulder as if to hold herself up as she laughed. Even Fenris' shoulders shook with laughter as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, teeth showing in a wide grin. It was the first time Hawke ever saw him laugh like that. In the middle of the ruckus, she managed to spare a moment to think how well laughter suited his face. 

"Shut up, all of you,” Anders demanded before advancing on Isabella and tugging on his shoulder pads. "Take those off!"

"Oh, come on, Ducky," she said, doing a twirl. "Don't I look lovely?"

"If anyone looks lovely," Hawke offered, “it would _have_ to be you, Anders.”

Anders pointed a furious finger in her face. “You are both intolerable shrews!”

"And you are a beautiful princess," Hawke said, grinning wickedly at him.

"I swear on the Maker, you _both_ are going to regret this,” he threatened, though his eyes sparkled with humor. “If it’s war you want, my dears, I can give you war.”

"Oh, I like a man with a bit of a temper," Isabella lilted.

"Indeed, I'm finding it difficult to be intimidated by you, my lady," Hawke offered.

"Oh, will both of you quit grinning like the foxes who ate the canary? Where are my clothes?"

"In there," Hawke said, motioning her head to the bathroom.

"Thank you," he growled, turning to walk that way and having a brief grappling session with Isabella to get the shoulder pads off her.

"Oh, and Madame Lusine expects that dress back by sundown," Hawke called after him, "lest you intend to show up for a shift."

"Hardy har-har." He barked back as he disappeared into the back.

"Oh, poor Anders," Merrill said, though she was still trying to stop laughing. "Why did you do that to him?"

"Don't look at me, Kitten," Isabella said, pointing at Hawke. "It was all her idea."

"You can't tell me I'm the only one who thought Anders needed to lighten up a little recently?" Hawke said.

"It's true," Varric said, though he was still laughing. "He'd even stopped laughing at my jokes lately."

"I can't take all the credit. If it weren't for Isabella's excellent execution it never would have worked."

Hawke took Isabella's hand and bowed with a dramatic flourish of her free hand, Isabella curtsied in turn.

"I think I have just realized why you two were separated for so long," Varric said. "You're a menace to society when you're together."

"Thank you," the girls said in unison.

* * *

"This is a waste of time," Fenris snapped, pushing the table away and shooting to his feet. 

"Fenris, you need to master the alphabet if you’re ever going to learn to read it,” Hawke said from where she was sitting.

"I agreed to let you help me learn to read, Hawke. What does writing have to do with it?"

"They’re really one in the same, Fenris. Writing it will help you remember."

"This is pointless," he sneered, turning to look into the fire. 

She was silent for a few moments before standing. "Perhaps that is enough for one night. Ferelden wasn’t built in a day, after all.”

He didn’t say anything, just put a hand on the mantle over the fire and leaned into it.

"I'm going to leave these here," she said, shuffling the various papers and books on the table. "You can practice over the course of the week if you like. I'll leave you my pens and my ink and a notebook full of fresh paper."

Fenris remained silent. He had a bad habit of taking his frustrations out on her when he was like this. He didn’t want to do that again, not when she was just trying to help him.

"Right, then,” she sighed, making her way for the door. “I can see myself out."

"Hawke," he said, turning just enough so that he could see her outline in the doorway. "I’m sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "I didn't think this was going to be easy."

"Is my temperament so intolerable?"

"Absolutely," she said, though he could hear her smiling.

He gave her a humorless laugh as he turned back to the fire.

"You're a grown man, Fenris. Teaching children is simple because they are absorbing anything and everything around them. Adults are so set in their ways, teaching them is much more difficult."

"I suppose."

"Don’t worry, Fenris. You don’t scare me."

He turned to look back at her, but she was already gone. He sighed and turned to look at the pile of books and paper on his table, strewn about in messy little stacks, full of his scribbles and proof of his incompetence. He scoffed and made his way to the window to watch Hawke as she left through the back door. The one person who refused to give up on him, no matter what he did to dissuade her.

"Thank you, Hawke," he said softly, knowing full well she couldn't hear him.


	19. The Trap

It was a few days before Hawke took Varric, Isabela, and Fenris to speak with the viscount. While Hawke seemed as silent and severe as ever when she was in her dark, menacing persona, Fenris knew something was different; there was something… rigid about her as they made the rounds. After their rather disconcerting talk about the Qunari with Viscount Dumar, and the subsequent _worse_ talk with Mother Patrice, they gathered outside the Chantry to formulate a plan. By then the darkness of night had covered the city, and they stood atop the Chantry steps in the soft glow of the lanterns.

"I invite you, serah," Isabella mimicked, "to walk straight into a _trap_."

"It's her game for the moment," Hawke said softly. "We don't have much of a choice."

"We don't have to do this at all," Isabella said. "It's none of our business."

“Oh, and when _will_ it be our business?” Hawke snapped in a harsh whisper. “When the Qunari take over the city?"

Her uncharacteristic outburst was not lost on Fenris, but he didn’t comment on it. "If the Qunari are not calmed, blood will be shed," he said, content to throw in his lot with Hawke. "And I do not mean _their_ blood." 

“Alright, alright,” Isabella relented, sinking into a hip. “By all means, let’s be off to wrestle with some fanatics in defense of the giant horned monstrosities.”

Hawke seemed to ignore her. "We need to find the missing Qunari emissaries and calm the tension."

"You got a plan, Hawke?" Varric asked. 

"Fenris and I will head to the Undercity. Varric, you go get the Viscount and meet us there. He's going to need to see whatever is waiting for us down there. Hopefully, by the time you get there, we’ll have whatever it is already dealt with. Izzy, we’ll need Anders. Go get him and meet us there.”

Everyone muttered their consent and Isabella and Varric started down toward their respective assignments. Fenris waited behind Hawke as she stood atop the Chantry steps for a few moments, staring up at the stars in that way that he was beginning to understand meant she was troubled.

"Hawke?" Fenris asked, coming to her side. “Everything alright?”

"I just— Do you ever wonder why it's always us who these tasks fall on? It was different when we needed the money and before… before Bethany…" he could see the motion of her throat behind her mask as she swallowed. "Why is it our job to save the city from itself?"

He exhaled and followed her eye line up to the sky, looking for whatever it is she always saw up there. “Because no one else will,” he said softly. “Perhaps no one else _can_.”

She nodded slightly as she brought her gaze down to the courtyard below them, but she didn’t say anything for a long time.

"What's the point?" she finally asked.

"The point? The point of what?”

“To all of it,” she said as she began to make her way down the steps. “What is the point to saving the city when it is so set on self-destruction? What is the point to averting this disaster when the next looms just over the horizon? I feel like we are exterminating roaches, clearing out their hives only to find more and more every day.” She looked over at him and shook her head. “I’m sorry, ignore me. I am not myself tonight.”

Indeed she wasn’t, he decided. Considering the bright, playful girl she had been just a few days ago, playing practical jokes on the abomination and laughing along with everyone else, this was a rather stark difference. He didn’t really know why it made him uneasy, but he found his stomach tying itself into knots and a concern he didn’t quite understand welling up in him. Despite the severe faces and the dark personality she tried to have in the public eye, she was truly a warm, kind individual. It wasn’t like her to despair.

“Don’t you bathe every day?” he asked her. 

She turned to him with an eyebrow arched. “Don’t you?”

“Not the point,” he continued. “Just answer the question.”

“Yes, Fenris, I bathe every day.”

“Why?”

“Because… I enjoy being clean?”

“But what’s the point? Aren’t you just… going to get dirty again?” 

Her eyes softened as she looked at him, and then she laughed as she turned back to their route, nodding just a little. She didn’t explain herself, didn’t offer him any further conversation, but he could see that she brightened a little, so Fenris didn’t push on. Their friendship was a precarious thing as it was; he didn’t intend to fracture it. Instead he accepted that she simply didn’t want to talk about it, and followed her as he always did. Silently.

They made their way through the tunnels under Kirkwall with Fenris trailing a few steps behind her as she disarmed the various traps that impeded their route. They followed the tunnels until they found what Mother Patrice had warned them about, though there were quite a lot more people than Fenris had originally anticipated.

The two of them hid behind the far wall to watch Ser Varnell, Patrice's former guard, addressing his room full of followers as the four Qunari were tied up against the wall.

"They are weak before the faithful of the Maker," the fanatic was saying. "The only certainty in their precious Qun is _death_ before the righteous."

"He's going to kill them," Hawke whispered, lurching forward as if to run at the group. 

Fenris barely managed to snatch the back of her vest and pull her back into his chest, wrapping an arm around the front of her shoulders to prevent her from running into the mass of Varnell’s followers. 

"Do not be foolish," he growled softly into her ear, "There are too many of them. We need to wait for Isabella to bring the mage."

He felt her exhale and they both looked around the corner just in time to watch the templar stick a knife into the side of one of the four Qunari hostages. It roared with the pain before baring its teeth at Varnell. 

"We cannot just sit here," she seethed, turning over her shoulder to look back at him. They were so close that he could feel her breath coming through her mask as the fury burned in her eyes. "Fenris, he’s going to kill them all."

"I don't like it either," he said. "But the two of us will barely be able to save _ourselves,_ let alone the prisoners."

"Damn it," she cursed, stomping a foot. 

Content that she wasn't going to do something stupid, he released her. She started to pace back and forth behind the wall, cursing under her breath as she listened to Varnell spew his lies. They both knew full well that the Qunari that had been stabbed was slowly bleeding out and that it was only a matter of time before he died. 

"Ser Varnell," Fenris heard a familiar voice shout. 

"Take a knee, faithful," the Templar replied. "The Chantry blesses us!"

Fenris leaned around the wall again to see what was happening.

"You claim a blessing when you have used the authority of the Grand Cleric so openly?"

"That Mother," Fenris said softly. "Patrice. She got here quicker than we anticip—" When Fenris turned back to look at Hawke, she had disappeared. _"Damn it!"_ He cursed in Tevene. _"If she doesn't get us killed, I'm going to kill her myself."_ He wasn’t about to just charge in before Hawke made her move, thereby ruining whatever foolhardy play she was trying to make. After all, it wasn't uncommon for Hawke's entrance alone to end a fight before it had even started. Her alter ego as the Hawk still held tremendous weight, though Fenris doubted it would mean anything to this bunch of treacherous zealots.

"You have brought wrath down upon you," Patrice continued. "The Qunari have friends, templar. How will you answer _their_ allegations?"

Knives — seemingly from nowhere — flew into the skulls of the two men standing guard over the Qunari who were still alive. The two men dropped to the ground as the crowd jumped back in shock before turning to try and find the source of the weapons. 

"She has brought a devil down on us!" cried one of the crowd. 

"You brought it on yourself," Mother Patrice said, turning to run out of the room. She ran right passed Fenris; and he spared a moment to wonder if he should stop her, but he ran out of time.

Hawke fell in front of the wave of people gathering to chase down Patrice, startling the lot. She had a dagger in each hand and was holding them out to her sides, her stance low and wide. 

"The Hawk," Varnell sneered. "Righteous! Destroy him!"

The crowd of fanatics inched closer and closer to Hawke, looking between one another, each hoping they wouldn't be the one to throw the first strike. Fenris slowly made his way to her side, not bothering to mention that they were tremendously outnumbered. They simply looked at each other and he could tell that she read from his face how screwed he thought they were. 

Together, they dove into the fray, very quickly taking their usual stance of standing at each other's backs. She would duck under his arcs, rolled over his back, protected his vulnerabilities whenever they were presented; and he took the brunt of the strikes, deflecting blows to protect them. It didn’t seem like enough, though. Every time they thought they were making progress, a whole new group came down on them. As if to add insult to injury, Varnell went out of his way to kill the remaining Qunari, before joining the fight.

... And he was a powerhouse. 

Even having thinned the remainder of Varnell's faithful, the sheer force from his swing was enough to knock Fenris back into Hawke, sending them both sprawling into the far wall. Fenris lost his sword, but managed to get his hands up in time to prevent himself from crushing Hawke against the wall. 

For the first time since the fight began, Hawke was in front of Fenris instead of at his back, and their enemies took the opportunity to throw their swords into him. He hunkered down against the wall to protect Hawke, but one of them managed to pierce his side under his armor. He sneered as the pain shot through him, and he just managed to see Hawke’s eyes fill with fire before she grabbed his chest piece and spun him around, slamming his back into the wall. Within the space of the same heartbeat she scooped up her daggers from where they had fallen in the dirt and whirled around on the mob, holding her twin blades out to her sides and standing defiantly in front of Fenris. As the swords continued to come down she moved fluidly from side to side and deflected them as best she could, but Fenris could see even from behind her that she was struggling without his added strength. He had to get his sword. 

Varnell saved him the trouble by coming back through the fray. The powerful arc of his sword carved through the remainder of his beloved followers, obviously more concerned with killing the intruders than keeping the 'righteous' alive. 

“Hawke!” was all Fenris managed to say before Varnell grabbed the rogue by her vest and hurled her, one handed, to the other side of the room. She hit the wall upside-down and slid down into the dirt head-first. Fenris took the opportunity to jump onto Varnell's back, wrapping his arms around the templar's throat and squeezing. Varnell reached behind him, grabbing Fenris by the hair and hurling him over his shoulders and onto the flat of his back. The templar raised his sword over his head, fully intending to cleave through Fenris, but was interrupted by an arrow being propelled through his throat. 

Varnell collapsed on top of Fenris, who grunted against the pain of the wall sized man flattening him into the ground. The effort it took for Fenris to push the templar off of him was considerable, especially considering he’d already been stabbed.

"You ladies okay?" Varric asked as he stood at the entrance with the Viscount. 

"You're late," Fenris sneered, getting to his feet. 

"I thought you were supposed to have back up," Varric defended.

"So did we," he said, looking back at Hawke, who was apparently unconscious. "Hawke," he called to her, but still she remained immobile. 

"What happened here?" the Viscount asked, shakily coming into the room. "Maker, this is madness."

Fenris explained the situation as he went to see if Hawke was alright. He pressed two fingers against her throat to confirm that her pulse was steady and that she was breathing. He figured that, as long as she hadn't gotten a concussion, she'd be fine.

"Is he alright?" the Viscount asked. 

"He'll be fine," Fenris said, being careful to use the male pronoun so as not to blow Hawke's cover. He kneeled down and lifted the unconscious rogue into his arms.

"Well, what do I do about these Qunari?" 

"I'd say burn them," Varric offered. "Hide the torture so the Qunari don't aggravate."

"They will find out one way or another," Fenris said as he headed for the door. "However, if you burn the bodies to conceal it, they will receive the added injury of you lying to them."

He didn't stay to hear the decision; he didn't care. He simply left, carrying his friend in his arms.

* * *

"You... you're that elf," Leandra said, staring at Fenris holding an unconscious Hawke in his arms. She was dressed in a nightgown with a robe over it, and had been pacing back and forth in the parlor when Fenris came in. "Is that my daughter? Maker, what happened? I knew she shouldn't have gone out in such a state. Is she—"

"Your blathering is not helping," Fenris said, eyes narrowed. He realized the woman was merely concerned and tried to school the irritation in his face. "She is simply unconscious. She'll be fine."

Leandra relaxed and stepped toward him, eyes on her daughter. She slowly peeled back Hawke's hood and slid the mask down her chin. Fenris noted the obvious affection Leandra had for Hawke as she ran a gentle hand over her hair. 

"Thank you for bringing her home, elf," she said softly before looking up into his face. "I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Fenris," he said, shifting Hawke's weight in his arms. He'd carried her all the way from Darktown and she was getting heavy. 

"Fenris," Leandra continued. "Would you be able to get her upstairs? I can... I can take care of her from there."

There was a brief pause before he spoke, motioning his head toward the stairs. "Lead the way."

Leandra turned and hurried up the stairs, opening the door to Hawke's bedroom so that he could easily walk through it. There was a fire already burning in the hearth, and the room was decorated in hues of red and gold, though Fenris figured that was more the mother's influence than Hawke's. Leandra went straight to the bed, peeling back a corner of the blankets and removing the frivolous pillows before moving aside.

Fenris laid Hawke on the bed as gently as he could, sparing a moment to look at her peaceful face in the amber glow of the firelight. Leandra moved to sit on the bed and run her fingers through Hawke's hair, forcing strands of it loose from her pony-tail. Fenris was just about to turn and leave when she spoke.

"I told her," Leandra said softly. "I told her she shouldn't go out tonight, not in the state she was in. I told her she wasn't in the right state of mind."

Fenris said nothing. He doubted she wanted a response, and even if she did, what was he supposed to say?

"It was three years ago today," she said, brushing her knuckles along Hawke's jaw. "Three years since we've lost Carver."

_Ah,_ Fenris thought. _I should have known._

Fenris knew a thing or two about anniversaries of traumatic events, and suddenly everything that had happened that night made sense: Her uncharacteristic despairing, her shortened temper, even her foolhardy attempt to save the Qunari hostages all made much more sense knowing it was the anniversary of her brother's death. He knew that, in her mind at least, it marked the anniversary of when she'd gotten him killed.

"Thank you," Leandra said, turning to look up at Fenris and take his hand. The lyrium in his hand didn't react, but still the sensation was uncomfortable. "Thank you for taking care of her."

"It is no less than she would do for me," he said simply, because it was the truth. "I can see myself out."

He slid free of Leandra's grasp and turned to leave, stopping in the door to look back at the two of them before making his way down the stairs and out of the house. He had been planning a rather scathing lecture for the next time Hawke was conscious, something about dragging him along into a fight where they were hopelessly outnumbered, but now he found he didn't have the heart for it. 

He may not know exactly how she felt, but he was all too familiar with her particular sort of guilt. Instead, Fenris marked the date in his mind and would be careful of it in the future. As Fenris finally drifted to sleep that night, he managed to think how odd it was that he simply assumed he and Hawke would still be companions when the anniversary rolled around again. Almost as if he did not consider a future without her friendship in it. 


	20. The Entertainer

When Hawke's awareness came back to her, she felt the brutal ache in her skull under the cooling sensation of ice being held on her head. Her eyes opened one at a time, squinting against the bright light of the morning. 

"Hello, Magpie," Isabella crooned. 

"What happened?" she managed to groan. 

"Took a nasty fall, from what I hear," Isabella said. 

Hawke managed to focus on the Rivaini sitting next to her as the facts slowly started to filter back into her mind. "Oh right," she grunted. "In that fight I thought I had backup for."

"I'm sorry, alright? We got lost."

"Lost? Izzy, do you think I'm stupid?"

"Honestly, love. I'm still relatively new to the city. Darktown is a blighted maze."

"Weren't you the one who made 'got lost' code for 'had a shag'?"

"Right. Yes, but it wasn't that this time." Isabela sighed and pulled the ice off Hawke's head. "Maker, I wish it were."

"I've known you a long time, Izzy, and I have _never_ known you to get lost."

"Well, what do you want?" Isabela asked, exasperated. "As long as I can see the sky I can find my way anywhere. When I'm underground I'm like a one legged cat trying to ice-skate down a mountain. I'm a pirate, not blighted mole rat."

Hawke simply groaned, putting a hand on her head where a massive knot had started to form. Since Isabella managed to surface, Hawke couldn't shake the feeling that she was hiding something from her. Regardless that 'hiding something' seemed to be Isabela's natural state of being, Hawke had a niggling at the back of her mind that this time it would be important. 

By _important_ , she of course meant _going to bite her in the ass._

"What happened with the Viscount?" Hawke asked after a few moments of awkward silence. 

"Varric said his honor made a public apology to the Qunari, telling them exactly what happened to their missing men. Anders and I arrived just as the Viscount was giving Varric his reward."

"Good timing, that."

"I just followed the sound of the money."

"Lord, I hate you."

"Oh, you do not. No one who has seen me naked could _possibly_ hate me."

"If that were the case, you'd be hard-pressed for enemies."

"Eat me."

* * *

"You shouldn't be here," Fenris said, glaring at Hawke standing in his doorway. She was holding a satchel filled with ice against her head and had her reading materials in the other hand. 

"I said every Tirdas and Thordas, didn't I?" she asked. "You should have expected me."

"You took a terrible blow last night," he said urgently, as if it would dissuade her.

"True. Your point?"

"You should be resting." 

"Nonsense. If I recall, you got stabbed and you seem to be getting along just fine." She pushed passed him and started to make her way up to the master bedroom to sit by the fire. 

"I have had more stab wounds than you have had _birthdays,_ Hawke," he sneered as he followed her. "I can manage."

"I'll have you know I've had more than my share of knocks on the head."

"Well — while that explains your temporary insanity — it does not change my point." He watched as she zigzagged up the stairs, unable to make a straight line. "You are not in the position to be teaching anything. You can barely walk."

"Then I guess I won't teach. You'll just have to read to me."

"I—What?"

"You've improved dramatically over the few sessions we've had. I think you can read these children's books I brought all on your own."

"Then leave them here. I will read them and you can return to your home and rest."

"If I leave, how will I know you'll do it?" she asked as she set the reading materials down.

"Because I'm telling you I will," he replied tightly.

She turned around in the doorway and looked at him for long moments — one hand holding the ice on her head, the other on her hip — narrowing her eyes like she was judging him for sincerity.

"Nope," she said before sitting herself down on the couch.

Fenris rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, as if that were going to somehow get rid of his frustration. "Fine," he said, "let us get on with it, then."

"That's the spirit," she sang. She handed him a book with a little girl holding a stuffed bear on the cover, and turned to lay her head on the arm of the couch. 

He pulled the chair up next to her, making sure the light of the fire was enough that he could see, before he sat down and opened the children's book. 

"Have you read this before?" he asked.

"I haven't. I didn't have any children's books, so I bought a few."

"You didn't hav—"

"Shhh," she interrupted. "Read."

He exhaled through his nose, looking at the first line of the book and already seeing a word he couldn't quite sound out in his head. The capital letter told him it was the girl's name, but he leaned the book over Hawke's face anyway and pointed to the word. 

"What is her name?" he asked. 

"Emilia," she said. 

He nodded and put the book in his lap, crossing an ankle over his knee. 

"This is Emilia," he began. "She is new in town. Emilia has..." he narrowed his eyes. Apostrophes. They replace a letter. "Has—hasn't made any f—" he cleared his throat.

"Sound it out," Hawke said softly.

"Freends. Friends? Wait, you said 'IE' makes an 'ee' sound. Like fiend."

She shrugged."Sometimes it also makes an 'eh' sound."

"How are people supposed to learn this? The rules are always broken."

She didn't say anything, but he could see she was smiling. 

"Emily hasn't made any _friends_ yet," he continued, smiling despite himself. "So she plays by... herself."

He continued to read the rest of the book, stumbling over a few of the words, but managing to sound his way through it. It was embarrassing that he felt such pride upon finishing simple children's books. But what did the level matter? He was reading. He was doing something Danarius had made him believe he would never do. He had even learned to write a little along the way. 

_A free man is not defined by his shortcomings. A free man does what he wishes with the skills and assets he has available to him._

Fenris turned to look at Hawke curled up on his couch, the pouch of ice almost completely melted and still sitting on her head. He wondered if she knew how grateful he was to her. Probably not. No matter what he was reading, his people skills remained adequately offensive. 

He ran over the events of their friendship in his head, wondering how — even with his ineptitude for social interaction — he ended up convincing this human woman to befriend him. He laughed. He convinced _her?_ It was more like she assaulted him with it. The very kindnesses he once told her would be her undoing were what had endeared her to him in the first place. He thought of it as ignorance once; naivety. As he looked down at her severe face lit by the flame in the hearth, he realized he'd been the ignorant one all along. 

Fenris told himself — months and months ago —that he was waiting to make a decision on how he felt about her once she had made her character clear one way or another but, whether he liked it or not, he cared about her now. The whole lot of them had grown on him over time, even the abomination somewhat, but Hawke was different. She either genuinely cared about him and his future, or was incredibly invested in convincing him thus. He couldn't imagine she would be part of two-year-long plan to gain his trust for nefarious means; that didn't make any sense. What would the trust of an ex-slave with no power or connections be worth? He supposed it didn't matter anymore because — for better or worse — she had his trust, maybe more. 

It was an unusual revelation, but it didn't make him uneasy like he thought it might in the beginning. It was comforting, like a weight had been lifted from his back. He wasn't completely alone anymore; he had her. 

"Why did you stop?" she asked sleepily without opening her eyes. 

"I am finished," he said.

She opened her eyes and lifted herself onto to her elbow to look over at him in the chair beside her. His elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair and his head was resting on his index finger as he looked over at her. She blinked several times, trying to will the sleep out of her eyes. The empty satchel sat on her head like a wet pauper's hat, which made him laugh.

"Go back to sleep," he said, as he reached to take the pouch off her head.

"I wasn't sleeping," she protested. 

"Well, then go to sleep."

"Don't be ridiculous," she groaned. "What would the neighbors think?"

"Since when do you care about my neighbor's opinions?"

"I don't," she said with a laugh as she sat up and stretched her arm above her head, "but I should go home. I have to have breakfast with Mother in the morning."

"Ah, then I will walk you home."

"What? Why?"

"Because," he said as he stood, "I do not have any faith in your ability to get home on your own. How is your head?"

"Wet," she said, patting her damp hair with her hand. 

"As is my couch, thanks for that."

She grinned and stood, shakily. She was obviously tired, and her head was probably causing her more than a little discomfort. He followed her down the stairs, noting how she held onto the railing as she went. He was going to remind her that his front door lead directly into the Keep Square and they would have to simply walk across it to get to her front door, but she was so used to using the back door that she naturally headed for it... and for whatever reason, he didn't correct her. 

Once they had made their way outside, Fenris took her right hand and put it on the inside of his arm, linking arms with her so she could lean on him. 

"Since when did you become a gentleman?" She asked, nudging him with her elbow. 

"Since you became incapable of taking care of yourself."

"With gentlemen like you, who needs scoundrels?" 

"Careful," he said, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. "If the mage finds out you don't need him, he'll be heartbroken."

"You're terrible."

"Granted."

He carefully led her down the stairs to the Chantry Courtyard, then around through the Keep Square to her front door. 

"I'll assume you can make it from here?" he asked, opening the front door for her. 

"What," she asked, feigning exasperation. "You're not going to tuck me in?"

"If I did that again, don't you think your dwarves will start to talk?"

"Again? What do you mean, again?"

He smiled and crossed his arms. "How do you think you got to bed yesterday while unconscious?"

The reddening of her cheeks was all he needed to be satisfied that he had embarrassed her. He laughed and gave her a gentlemanly half-bow. 

"Goodnight, Hawke," he said as he turned to walk away.

"Goodnight, Fenris."

* * *

Fenris didn't see Hawke the rest of the week. If Varric was to be believed (which he rarely was) Hawke spent the weekend confined to her bed by her mother. Apparently Leandra had not been happy when she found out Hawke had left the house the night of Fenris' reading lesson. As Fenris made his way through the pub for their usual game of Wicked Grace he could already hear Isabela and Varric bantering back and forth.

"He felt her shiver in his hands as his lips ghosted over her collarbone, and found himself smiling as she mewled helplessly in his arms."

"Oooh, I like that," Isabela said, resting her chin on her forearms as she listened.

"I thought you might," Varric said, removing the glasses from his nose with a smile and flipping to the next page. He nodded at Fenris as he entered and Fenris returned the gesture and greeted Isabela before making his way over to where Hawke was studying a map she had sprawled out on the other table.

"I especially like 'shiver in his hands,'" Isabela said, wiggling her shoulders.

"Lord, you make her sound like a frightened cat," Hawke said without looking up the map. "Mewling and quivering, honestly who does that?"

"What would you know?" Varric said, motioning his hand toward her. "You haven't gotten laid in the five years you've lived here. I'm starting to think there's ice in your veins."

"Oh don't let her fool you," Isabela said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her ankles on the table. "I have it on good authority that Hawke is only cool to the touch, but all volcano underneath."

"Oh, really?" Varric said, raising his eyebrows and leaning his chin in his hand. "I would love to hear _that_ story."

Hawke brandished her pen at Isabela. "Do not make me murder you."

"Oh, come on, Magpie, it's a fun story."

"Absolutely not."

"I'm starting to think you're no fun anymore," Varric said, balancing his glasses back on his nose so he could continue to read.

"I didn't even know he wore spectacles," Fenris said, motioning to his own face to illustrate. 

"They're glass," Hawke said quietly. "The man can put an arrow between the eyes of a bandit from the other side of the ocean, his eyesight is fine. He thinks they make him look distinguished."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

* * *

"Where's the band?" Isabela said throwing her cards down. "That has to be why I'm losing my ass, it's throwing off my mojo not to have any music."

"I gave them the night off," Varric said, dealing a new hand. 

"Now why would you do that?" Anders asked.

Varric shrugged. "I think one of them may have died."

Silence. 

"What?" Varric asked when everyone was staring at him. 

"One of them _died?"_ Anders repeated. 

"Which one?" Isabela asked. "And how?"

"How should I know? I didn't ask about it."

"How could you not ask?" Hawke chimed in. "They're your employees, don't you care?"

"What do you want from me? I gave them the night off, didn't I?"

"The very picture of charity, you are," she said into her mug. 

"Oh, I hope it wasn't the singer," Isabela lamented. "I never got the chance to straddle him."

"Yes, I can see you're very broken up about it," Anders teased her.

"Rivaini, if you're so shaken by the lack of music why don't _you_ go up there and play us a tune. All their instruments are still there."

She laughed. "Yes, me and my tin ear will be a _wonderful_ way to get the crowd going."

"They will probably all cheer you on anyway," Anders said as he moved his cards around. "Just in the hopes that you'll sleep with one of them."

"Alas, I don't think even my wealth of sex appeal would be able to combat the dying cat sounds I would produce." Then she straightened as if a thought occurred to her. "I know. Magpie, why don't you sing us a tune?"

"No," Hawke said simply, no small amount of ice in her tone.

"Hawke, you can sing?" Anders asked.

Fenris and Varric immediately made eye contact and then pretended to be incredibly interested in their cards.

"She's brilliant," Isabela cheered. "I have heard _professionals_ that can't hold a candle to our little bird."

"Oh, I would love to hear you sing, Hawke," Merrill said, clapping her hands once. "If Isabela says you sing well, it has to be true."

"Oh, yes," Hawke said, rolling her eyes. "Surely Izzy would never _dream_ of lying."

"You always _used_ to sing for us," Isabela tried.

Hawke's shoulders shifted uncomfortably as she looked at her cards. "That was a long time ago," she said softly.

"Don't be such an old stick!" Isabela demanded. "You know very well you sing better than anyone else in here. We're not asking you to belt out an aria or anything, just sing us Gypsy Rover or something."

"Everyone knows Gypsy Rover," Varric said, still looking at his cards but apparently unable to keep himself out of the ribbing.

"I love that song," Anders said, tapping his fingers on the table. "Come on, Hawke, sing for us."

The more the party seemed set on getting Hawke to sing, the more Fenris noticed the tension building in her. Her shoulders were raised and her jaw and throat were straining, but it seemed the harder she fought, the more the group was determined to break her. 

It wasn't until Fenris saw something in her face change, something rather like fear flash across her features, that he realized how desperately she didn't want to do what they were asking. It was also the moment he realized he had a rather powerful urge to protect her from it.

"I'll play," he said without thinking. He cleared his throat when everyone turned to look at him. He put his palms flat on the table and stood. "If it will get the lot of you to shut up and concentrate on the game, I will play something for you."

"You... you play?" Isabela asked. 

"I've told you all before I was trained in entertaining about as rigorously as I was trained in combat," he said with a shrug. "You really shouldn't be surprised." He could feel all their eyes on him as he made his way to the stage, stepping up on the small platform and reaching for the fiddle. He rolled out his shoulders before raising the fiddle under his chin and pulling the bow across the strings experimentally. It seemed in tune so he glanced over to his table where his friends were all staring at him as if he'd sprouted wings.

He felt the smile tug at the corner of his lips as he started to play. Nothing of the slow, melancholic songs that Danarius so often made him play in the middle of the night, but a jaunty, happy tune that he often had to play at parties. He was a little rusty after four years, and the fiddle wasn't exactly the violin he was used to playing on, but he found it came back to him rather quickly. It was just as deeply ingrained in him as swordplay and he found himself closing his eyes and concentrating much like he used to in order to ignore the crowd. 

It wasn't long before the audience was clapping along, and he could hear cheering and whooping from all across the tavern. It wasn't anything he was unused to, but there was something a little bit satisfying about it. He had always been forced to play. _Play us a tune, little wolf,_ Danarius would demand. 

Now, though, it wasn't the Imperium. It wasn't magisters and nobles. It was a tavern in Lowtown. A tavern full of his friends and people who thought him an equal. He was not a dog performing tricks; he was a man, playing a tune to save his friend from having to sing one. In fact, before the song was through Fenris found that he was rather enjoying himself. 

When the song came to a close on a high note, the tavern erupted in applause and Fenris found himself smiling as he put the fiddle back where it came from and turned to step down. 

"Bow!" Isabela shouted at him. 

"What?" He shouted back from the edge of the platform. 

"Take a bow!" Hawke said, bowing to him to show him what they were saying. 

Fenris knew the confusion read plainly on his face, but he put his arms at his sides and bowed rigidly before stepping off the stage. He had never bowed after playing before. It wasn't considered _his_ talent when he played for Danarius and his guests; it was considered his master's accomplishment that his slave could play. There was something inherently satisfying about being able to take the credit for it. 

"That was wonderful!" Isabela cheered, throwing her arms around him and spinning him around. He tensed under her arms and cleared his throat as he pulled away. 

"Yes, well... Can we get on with it now?"

* * *

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Hawke said, holding her hands behind her back as she walked. 

"Do what?" Fenris asked as he started to ascend the steps to Hightown. 

"Play fiddle," she said. "You only know how to do it because of your life as a slave, I never meant for you to have to do any of that again."

"A friend once told me 'A free man does what he wishes with the skills and assets he has available to him'," he said, feeling rather pleased with himself. The color in her cheeks told him rather obviously that she remembered saying the exact words to him. "You were uncomfortable. I thought it might draw the attention from you."

"Thank you," she said softly, looking at her feet. "You didn’t share my discomfort, obviously."

"A large portion of my time was spent performing for guests and the like. I learned long ago not to care about having eyes on me."

"The last place a person who lives in the shadows wants to be is in the spotlight. I make my living making sure people _do not_ see me. It's rather daunting to have everyone looking at me."

"You continue to surprise me," he said with a small laugh.

"Hmm? How so?"

"I have never met anyone quite so fast, smart, or deadly as you are. Yet I have also never met anyone who fears the things you do: Attention… _Water..._ "

She cringed when he said water. 

"You thought I'd forgotten," he said. 

"More like hoped," she said with an exhale. 

"I am not going to force you to learn how to swim," he said, stopping in front of her door. "Learning to do something you want to learn, and learning to do something you're afraid of, are two completely different things."

"I _want_ to learn," she began, letting the sentence trail off. 

"I know," he conceded. "I also know what it’s like to be afraid. When the day comes when the thought no longer frightens you, I will gladly repay my debt."

She smiled and leaned her head to the side, observing him for a long moment.

"Watch yourself, Fenris," she said, pointing a finger at him and turning to head for her door. "You're dangerously close to being charming."

"I will seek to rectify it immediately."


	21. The Prank

The following week, Fenris bought himself a violin. 

It was more that he couldn't think of an excuse not to. When he wasn't playing cards, reading with Hawke, or following her into every slaver den on the Wounded Coast, he hadn't realized how much down time he had. He still had a rather ridiculous stockpile of gold that he rarely dipped into from the Deep Roads, so he figured that if he was going to spend it on something it might as well be a violin. 

It was strange to him how much he enjoyed playing. He had never really thought about it before it was just... there. It had been nothing more than a skill that had been forced upon him. Now, though, he would play for himself, finding that whatever emotion he was currently trying to deal with would spill out onto the strings. It eased the tension in his chest and lifted the weight from his shoulders. It was invigorating. 

His mind would wander as the bow caressed the strings. He would think about his previous life, if he'd ever been glad to play the violin, or if the emotion just never registered; he would think of Cook and the other slaves and wonder if they still played chess during parties; he would think of Danarius and his apprentices, of their cruelty and scathing words.

Tonight, however, he thought of the fog warriors. He thought of the meals they shared and the unusual stories they'd read to him. He thought of their unyielding kindness toward him and their unwillingness to see him enslaved again. He thought of his betrayal, of the looks on their faces when the animal took hold of him. He thought of the monster inside of him and how even now he felt it lurking in the back of his mind, a shadow in his heart that he could never be free from, the stain on his soul that brought out the beast. 

That tell-tale uneasiness settled on his stomach, and he knew Hawke was near. He still didn't know exactly how he knew, but still he always did. He heard a sniffling breath from outside his window, his sharp ears twitching at the sound. He had been expecting her later that evening for their usual reading lesson, but she must have heard him playing and climbed up onto his roof to listen through his window. Fenris smiled. She was crying as a result of his music. He didn't know why that was so satisfying.

He continued to play as if Hawke wasn't there, trying to keep the image of her among the dead fog warriors from his mind. He found it rather unsettling that he didn't know the answer to whether or not he would turn on Hawke the way he turned on the fog warriors. He couldn't imagine betraying her, but if Danarius demanded it, if he spoke those all-too-familiar words that haunted his nightmares, would it be Hawke's blood on his hands when he woke? The image of her lifeless, golden eyes staring up at him was what eventually forced him to stop playing. 

"I can hear you crying," he said finally.

She made a small sound of surprise before he heard her scrambling around on his roof. Then her head appeared upside down in his window.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt," she said. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as if she were weighing whether or not to speak. "You play beautifully."

He shifted and cleared his throat, moving to put the violin back in its case. "I uh... Thank you," he said, still not exactly used to receiving praise. He turned around and saw that she was still hanging in his window. "Are you going to come in? Or are we going to have our lesson on the roof?"

"Oh, right," she said, disappearing for a moment before climbing through his window with a few books under her arm. "I didn't know you had a violin of your own."

"I've had it a few weeks now," he said, taking his usual seat in the high backed chair beside the sofa. "I was surprised to find that I actually enjoyed playing at the Hanged Man, so I figured it would be a worthwhile investment."

Again she chewed on her lip before she spoke, and he realized she still thought she needed to tread carefully when speaking to him about certain things. "Did you enjoy playing back in the Imperium?" she asked.

"I... do not know, honestly," he said, shifting to lean his chin on his hand as he looked into the fire. "It was something I simply had to do. I don't... remember feeling one way or another about it."

She nodded and took the seat beside him, shuffling the books in her lap. "I'm glad you enjoy playing," she said. "Because I very much enjoy listening to you."

"If that is the case, then I am glad I learned."

That made her smile as she handed him a book and he brought it into his lap. _The Twisting Fade,_ the book was called. Regardless that he was perfectly capable of continuing his reading on his own now, that never seemed to dissuade Hawke. She still showed up for his lessons: every week, twice a week. He still stumbled over words and would need her to say it for him or tell him what the word meant if he'd never heard it before, but he read smoothly for the most part, and it wasn't unusual for Hawke to doze off on his couch while he read to her. Even when he was sure she was asleep, when he stopped reading for any period of time, she would wake and ask him why he stopped. 

This particular evening, though, she was wide awake. He imagined it had something to do with her not being exhausted from a mission or one of the events her mother usually forced her to attend. Whatever the reason, she was much more awake than usual. She crossed her arms over the arm of the sofa and leaned her chin on them as she watched him read. 

"You're really very smart, Fenris," she said once he'd paused at the end of a chapter. 

"I... beg your pardon?" he asked, not because he hadn't heard her, but because he didn't understand.

"You're very intelligent," she said with a small shrug. "You've come so far in the month or two I've been teaching you and now you don't even need me."

He swallowed and felt like his face was growing warm. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, turning to the next page as a distraction. 

She smiled and sat up. "I should get going," she said. "I don't want to be gone long enough to give Anders his opening."

Fenris closed the book, keeping his finger between the pages as he tilted his head to the side. "His opening for what?"

"Apparently he's been plotting his revenge for the little prank Izzy and I played on him. He put talcum powder in her clothes and then covered her in flour."

"Children," he said, leaning his head on his fingers, "the lot of you."

"We can't all be angry, brooding swordsmen."

"For the last time, I do not _brood._ "

* * *

"Maker, it's sweltering out here," Hawke said softly as she looked through the clothes of one of the dead raiders. 

"You would think you would be used to that by now," Fenris said as he was crouched down next to her. 

"I am going to reek to high heaven when I get home," she said. "I am sweating a ridiculous amount. Isabela stepping foot in the chantry, sweating."

Fenris laughed at that as he looked up to see Varric and Anders making their way back over from where they had been addressing the guards. 

"They're amazed we managed to take them all out without their help," Varric said.

"I knew we could," Hawke said with a shrug. "As soon as she told us to watch out for traps, I knew it would be an easy enough fight."

"How did you even manage to disarm all the traps before they saw you?" Anders asked. "I mean, I know better than to be surprised when you manage to sneak around successfully, but we're in broad daylight."

"Broad, _unyielding,_ daylight," Hawke said, confident that they were alone on the cliff before taking down her hood and wiping her brow of sweat.

"I don't know how you do it," Varric said, wiping his neck. "It's hotter than a hooker's lady garden out here."

"Charming," Hawke drawled.

A slow, almost menacing grin spread across Anders face and Hawke arched an eyebrow as she pulled her mask down. 

"What's got you grinning like a fox?" she asked. 

"Well, it is rather hot out here," he said slowly.

"Your point?"

"And if I recall, I owe you a revenge dunk," he said.

She turned to see that she had been standing near the cliff's edge and she turned around, holding her hands up as if to say wait, but she only managed to catch a glimpse of Anders putting two fingers to his forehead before he mind-blasted her off the cliff, sending her careening end over end down into the crashing waves. She barely managed to hear Fenris calling after her; she didn't even have the presence of mind to scream. She just fell, knowing that the water was coming, ready to swallow her up. 

She had prepared for this contingency a thousand times. If ever thrown into deep water, unlatch all extraneous weight, stay calm, turn onto your back and hold a deep breath. She had run it over and over in her mind so many times she had long since memorized it, but in those precious few moments before she hit the water it was all just nonsense. She froze, her muscles going tense and rigid as she tumbled into the water feet first and sank like a stone.

When her feet touched the bottom she managed to have enough self-preservation instincts to push herself up and when she finally breeched the water's surface, she scrambled and thrashed as she tried to stay above the water. Somewhere in her mind she knew that it was only a matter of time before the saltwater filled her lungs, and she tried to call out for help, but it was swallowed up by the waves. 

The last thing she remembered was wondering whether or not Fenris would mourn her.

* * *

_"Hawke!"_ Fenris called after her, looking over the cliff just in time to see where she crashed into the water. _"Idiot!"_ he sneered as he turned around and shook free of his gauntlets. He started to pull his chest piece off — not bothering to unbuckle it and instead opting to just pull it over his head — as he backed away from the cliff so he could get a good running start.

"Calm down, Fenris," Anders was saying. "I made sure she cleared the rocks she just-"

_"Fool mage,"_ he barked, griping the front of Anders' robe and pushing him out of the way. "She cannot swim!" With that, he pushed off the rocks and sprinted as fast as he could before punching his toes into the cliff's edge and diving down into the black water.

Hawke had flown much farther than Fenris managed to get on his own, and he managed to catch a glimpse of her floundering desperately before she went under. He made his way toward her as fast as he could possibly go, swimming against the current of the ocean and looking for a sign of her. He tried desperately to see down into the depths of the water, diving under it and ignoring how the salt of the ocean stung his eyes as he tried to find her. 

This wasn't how it would end for her. After all they had seen? All they had been through? For her to _drown_ because of a stupid _prank_ at the hands of someone she called a friend? No. That wasn't how her life ended. That wasn't how the Hawk went down. He wouldn't allow it. 

In the end, it was the one quirk of color, the red sash she wore around her waist, that revealed her to him, and Fenris dove down as far as he could go, managing to snatch the back of her vest and pull her up into the open air. 

He gasped as he broke the surface of the water, and he was painfully aware of the fact that she didn't. 

"No," he said, turning her toward him and shaking her while he tried to stay afloat. "Hawke!" 

She didn't move and he could tell she wasn't breathing. He felt an unusual stirring of emotions well up in him and he bit it all down, unable to spare the time to sort them out. His mind raced for a solution, some kind of training he'd received to help her. He started swimming to shore, pulling Hawke along with him, keeping her tight against his chest as he kicked and pulled his way through the water, the current helping to push him closer and closer to the surf. He had to think of something. He had to save her.

Anders sprinted onto the sand and waved one of his hands, carving a path through the water, parting it where Fenris was wading through it so he could run. He immediately swept her up in his arms and ran along the rocks that had been concealed by the water.

"She's not breathing," Fenris said, carrying her onto the shore and relinquishing her to Anders. He stood back, holding himself up on the rocks as he watched.

Varric finally managed to catch up with them, immediately dropping onto his knees beside Hawke as Anders moved his hands over her. 

"What are you waiting for?" Fenris sneered, but all he received in reply was tense silence. Fenris could hear his heart pounding in his ears, his mind raced. What would he do? She couldn't die. Not now. Not like this. She was his friend. She was going to help him fight Danarius, she never judged him and never pitied him and, damn him, she _could not die._

Anders tilted Hawke's chin back and moved his hand from her abdomen, up her chest, and along the length of her throat, his hand glowing a faint white light against her clothes and skin. Finally Hawke lurched, coughing and hacking the water out of her lungs. 

The wave of relief that crashed over Fenris hit him so hard that he had to catch himself on a rock so he didn't drop to his knees. All at once, the emotions Fenris had been battling to keep down lurched into his throat, swelled in his chest, and muddied his mind. 

Never mind that his instinct to protect Hawke had become so powerful that he hadn't given a second thought to diving off a cliff into the ocean. Never mind that he'd abandoned his armor and sword, and hadn't even looked to make sure he could jump the distance before throwing himself into the sea after her. What really shook him was the fear as he watched her sink below the surface, as he desperately tried to find her in the black water, as he pulled her into the air and didn't hear her gasp for breath. 

Hawke was still coughing when Fenris realized he was shaking, and he knew it wasn't from the frigid water. It was adrenaline. It was panic. It was an overwhelming fear. He ran a shivering hand over his face and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. He watched Anders hold her shoulders while she freed her lungs of water, the emotions he didn't understand all yielded to the one he was all too familiar with: Rage.

"So, no more swimming," Varric said, propping Hawke up on his lap as she continued to cough and shake. "Maker, Hawke, you scared me."

"I'm so sorry," Anders said, who was still kneeling next to her, rubbing her back. "I had no idea, Hawke, I..."

"It... it's alright," she said through chattering teeth. "You couldn't have known."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. "I would never have— _Agh."_

Fenris grabbed the mage by the back of his robe and threw him into the mountainside so hard he had the wind knocked out of him. Even before Anders could realize what had happened, Fenris was on him again, gripping the front of his robe and lifting him off the ground to slam him back into the rocks. 

"Do you see?" Fenris sneered up at him. "Do you see now what your ignorance costs? Do you see now how _dangerous_ you are?"

"L-let me go!"

"Fenris," Hawke said, sitting up. "It was an accident!"

"It is always an accident!" Fenris growled. "It is always the poor persecuted mage who justifies his ignorance with kindness. It is always those who claim wisdom who wreak havoc. It is not the road to the _heavens_ that is paved with good intentions, Mage."

"Fenris," Hawke said gently. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" he repeated, unbelieving, letting Anders fall back into the sand as he wheeled around. "He nearly _killed_ you."

"But he didn't, thanks to you," Hawke said. "Everything is fine."

"Everything is _not_ fine!" he growled. "How long will you allow him loose upon the world? What step is a step too far for you, Hawke? How much control must he lose before you take action? Who must he betray before you see that he is _poison?"_

"Fenris..."

"What are you talking about?" Anders asked as he stood. "This has nothing to do with my control, and everything with my not knowing Hawke couldn't swim! I am perfectly in control, don't bring Justice into this!"

"Your ignorance will be your undoing, abomination!" Fenris roared at him. He hadn't even noticed that his lyrium had started glowing until he saw the light of it on the mage's skin. "I have been perfectly content to sit back and watch you spiral further into your own madness, but mark my words: I will _end you_ before I allow you to hurt the things I care about!"

He hadn't even known he was going to say the words, they just flew out of his mouth unbidden. His lyrium faded, his ears went back, and his expression dropped as he realized what he'd said. It was only a moment before the sneer was back on his face and he pushed Anders back against the wall. He didn't say anything else and he didn't stay to help Hawke get home; he knew very well that Varric and Anders would see to that. He walked away, heading back to the mansion soaked to the bone.

As he trudged back to Hightown, glaring at anyone who might look twice at him, he realized it wasn't the mage he had been angry at, not really. He wasn't about to admit that Anders hadn't _deserved_ getting thrown into a wall, but he was willing to admit to himself that he'd overreacted. 

He hadn't known how to process it, the fear and sadness that had rampaged through his chest. One moment he was carrying her to the shore trying to think of a plan of action, and the next he was watching Anders move his hands over her lifeless form. Somewhere in between, the emotion had taken hold of him and rendered him into a shivering child. 

_I will end you before I allow you to hurt the things I care about._

He wasn't used to fearing for others. The only deaths that he had mourned were those of the fog warriors, and even then it was more guilt than sorrow. He had no idea how to process the feeling, had no idea what he had been supposed to do with it, so he had retreated into the comfort of his anger. It was easier to default in his rage rather than entertain the fact that Hawke had almost died in his arms. 

The thought stopped him cold, hand on the door knob to his mansion. 

He gripped at his tunic like it was going to combat the horrid ache that squeezed around his heart. If the price of friendship was this intolerable feeling upon their inevitable separation, Fenris wondered if it was worth it at all. 

_Sometimes I wonder if it's better to sacrifice feeling the joy in order to forfeit the pain of the loss._

It had been years since she said that to him, the night Bethany was taken. Yet the words rang through his head now like she had only just spoken them, and they had never held so much weight.

* * *

What a mess she was.

Hawke sat on the floor, leaning against her cushioned chair as she sat in front of the fire. She settled into the comfortable routine of cleaning all her various daggers and knives. The salt water would wreak havoc on them if she didn't, and having her hands busy with the familiar habit allowed her mind to wander. 

She had almost died that day. Literally. No dramatics, no theatrics, she had almost drowned. The one death she feared more than any other had nearly become a reality not even eight hours ago.

... And yet, she couldn't stop smiling. 

_I will end you before I allow you to hurt the things I care about._

He had been facing Anders, so Hawke had no idea what Fenris looked like when he'd said it, but she imagined he was filled with righteous fury on her behalf. After the initial shock had eased away, and after a nice, warm bath — supervised by her mother — Hawke was unusually pleased for having almost drowned.

Fenris cared about her. So much, in fact, that he had exploded and completely overreacted to the situation. True, she had almost died, but Anders had only been trying to prank her. Fenris hadn't needed the ten minute diatribe about abominations. Was it pathetic that she was incredibly flattered? 

She sighed and let her head fall back against the chair. 

Yes. Yes, it was pathetic. 

Had she become so enamored with the elf that the simple fact that he cared whether or not she died was considered a compliment? She supposed being cared about by someone who routinely hated _everyone_ was, indeed, a compliment, but surely there was no reason for her to be blushing like a school girl. Alone. In her room. 

The knock on her bedroom door had been so unexpected it had actually made her jump.

"Um, come in," she called.

"Messere," came Bodhan's voice as he cracked the door open, "there's a gentleman here to see you."

She looked out her window to confirm that it was quite late before returning her attention to the dwarf in her doorway. Anders with more apologies, probably. 

"Send him up, Bodhan."

"At once, my lady."

She continued to clean her dagger, finding she was rather glad for the distraction Anders would present. She had been thinking of Fenris non-stop since she'd gotten home. In fact, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, she had been thinking about him ever since she'd hit the water.

_Anara, my dear,_ she thought with a long sigh. _You have certainly gotten yourself into a mess._

* * *

Fenris had known Hawke was awake when he'd seen the light burning in her window, but he wouldn't have blamed her if she hadn't wanted company. When the dwarf told him to head up to her room, he had to swallow down the bunch of nerves that riled in his stomach. He got to the top of the stairs and reached for her door handle, but decided against it and knocked twice softly on the wood.

"Come in," she called from inside. 

He cleared his throat and pushed the door open slowly, peering inside and spotting her where she sat in front of the fireplace cleaning her daggers. 

"Hawke?" he asked as he shut the door behind him. 

She obviously hadn't been expecting it to be him, because the sound of his voice made her head snap up in his direction and her hair fanned out around her as her head turned. 

Her hair was down. He'd never seen her with her hair down. 

"Fenris," she said, no small amount of surprise in her voice. "Come in, I uh..." she moved as if she were going to rise to her feet but he interrupted her.

"Please, do not... do not get up," he said, putting a hand out. "I'm interrupting. Do not trouble yourself."

She settled back down and smiled at him before motioning a hand to the chair opposite the one she was leaning on. "Then sit, unless you only came for your armor."

"My armor?" It wasn't until that very moment that he remembered he'd left it on the Wounded Coast with his sword.

"Yes, it's just there by the door," she said pointing to it. 

He turned and saw a closed chest by her bedroom door with his sword leaning against the wall behind it. 

"I cleaned it for you," she said with a small shrug before returning to what she was doing. "I figured it was the least I could do. I didn't want it to rust because of the saltwater in the air."

"I... thank you," he said, clearing his throat and turning back to her. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he made his way toward the chair. 

"Fantastic, considering the circumstances," she said, pausing in her cleaning to look up at him, letting the dagger drop into her lap. "Thank you, again. For saving me."

"You shouldn't have needed saving," he said before he could think better of it.

"True," she said with a small laugh. "I really _should_ be able to swim."

"No," Fenris said decisively. "I meant that the abomination should never have blasted you off a cliff in the first place. You do not throw someone into the water without knowing for a fact if they can swim."

"Just like you don't give someone a book without knowing if they can read?" she asked.

"That is completely different," he defended. "Books are not _deadly."_

"I could very easily kill a man with a book if I had to."

He smiled at that and gave her a single nod. "You have me there." He finally sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees as he watched her hands clean her daggers. "I came to erm... apologize."

Her eyebrows knitted together and her head tilted to the side. _"You're_ apologizing? What for?"

"For... overreacting earlier."

"Don't apologize to _me._ It's Anders you—"

"Anders deserved everything he got," Fenris interrupted. "I am apologizing for... snapping at you like I did. You, of all people, did not deserve my anger. I was just... I was so..." 

"It's intolerable isn't it?" she asked with an understanding smile. "Caring for others."

"Maker, yes," he groaned, putting his head in his hand. "Is it always like this?"

"Afraid so," she said with a dainty shrug. "Welcome to friendship. Only took you four years but you made it. How do you feel?"

"Exhausted," he said, smiling a little.

She laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear, nodding her agreement as she returned to cleaning her weapons. He tilted his head, observing how the jagged points of her hair touched her shoulders. It reflected the glow of the fire, making it look almost silken. He fought the urge to reach out and test his theory. 

"What?" she asked when she realized he'd been staring at her. 

"I've... never seen you with your hair down," he said, smiling a little despite himself.

"Really?" Her hand reached up like a reflex, taking a lock of her hair between her fingers. "Fenris we've known each other almost five years, I'm sure you're mistaken."

"I think I would remember," he said, feeling the smile on his face broaden. "I rather like it. You don't look quite so..."

"Mannish?" she offered. 

"I was going to say menacing," he clarified. "I've never thought you looked particularly mannish."

"Oh?" she asked, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. "What about when you thought I was a man?"

He laughed and shook his head. "Even then I had never thought you particularly mannish. I'll admit to not thinking you were particularly feminine either, but I had always maintained that under your layers you would have been a rather effeminate lad."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or be offended on behalf of my presumed masculinity."

"You know very well I have never intentionally paid you a compliment."

"Ah, yes. Always the gentleman." She laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear again, even though it hadn't come loose from the last time she'd done it. She cleared her throat like she was contemplating her next words before looking back up at him. "It occurs to me... that this might not have happened at all had I been able to swim."

Fenris was silent for a bit, choosing his words very carefully. "That is... a possibility."

She dragged her bottom lip through her teeth. "Do you honestly think you can teach me?"

"I do," he said immediately. "But you have to be willing to learn."

"Do you think you're up to the challenge? I might prove even more stubborn and intolerable than you."

"While I find that hard to believe, you have yet to offer me a challenge that I failed to rise to," he said, unable to fight the smile tugging at his lips. If she was seriously considering allowing him to teach her, that was progress in his mind. 

She exhaled a forceful breath and looked back into the fire. "I'm... not sure that I'll even be able to get into the water," she said softly. "I will undoubtedly need a rather large amount of patience." She looked over at him briefly. "A virtue you are not exactly known for possessing." 

"Fair enough," he said.

"But," she continued, returning to cleaning her knife, perhaps as a distraction. "I suppose if you are still willing to teach me after today, it would be foolish of me not to at least _attempt_ to learn."

"If anything, today has made me _more_ willing to teach you," he said as he stood. "Perhaps we will remove one of the days we use for reading and repurpose it for swimming."

She laughed but it was a timid, nervous sound. "Very well," she said before looking up at him. "If that is your wish."

"It is," he said with a nod, "and I am looking forward to it."


	22. The Quarrel

"Ah, Miss Amell. I was just coming to see you!"

Hawke turned around from where she'd been shutting her front door to see Simone De'Laure, the Orlesian baroness that had originally tried to buy the Amell family estate, approaching her. 

"Your ladyship," Hawke said, managing to sound adequately surprised. "What a surprise."

"It has been a long time, yes?" she asked, that same thick, almost syrupy accent dripping from her words. 

"Almost a year, I believe," Hawke said with a smile. "I had heard you went back to Orlais. We were all rather worried you'd quit Kirkwall entirely."

"Do not be silly, Miss Amell. I could not leave Kirkwall forever. I adore it here."

"Well, I am glad to hear it," Hawke returned. She never quite understood what made Simone De'Laure think they were the best of friends, but Hawke wouldn't complain. Her friendship with Simone made it much easier to maintain her public persona and keep her identity as the Hawk secret. "Did you say you had business with me, your ladyship?"

"Indeed I did," she said, linking her arm with Hawke's. "Do you mind if I walk with you for a time?"

"Of course not," Hawke said dutifully as she began to make her way toward Lowtown for Wicked Grace, walking at the casual pace nobles liked to use. They had to be quite the interesting pair. Simone was, of course, dressed in the highest Orlesian fashion, wearing a gown of deep green and lace gloves to match. Her strawberry blonde curls sparkled like silk in the light of the setting sun, and her vibrant green eyes stood out like beacons, thanks to her expertly executed makeup. Hawke, on the other hand, was wearing a vest and long sleeved shirt with simple pants tucked into her high boots, the last person people expected to see walking arm in arm with the baroness. Hawke had a suspicion that turning her into a popular society miss was Simone's favorite pet project. "How did you find Orlais? I hope it was not any particular emergency that made you return?"

"Of course not, my dear," she said, swatting her arm playfully as they walked. "Simply the same old boring matters that someone of my station is required to participate in. We would have returned sooner, but we decided that travelling through the rainy seasons was simply too dangerous when dealing with the sea, and the journey is simply too long for a carriage. You know how I detest traveling by land."

"I do," Hawke said with a smile. What a luxury it must be to be able to alter one's entire schedule for a year based solely on one's travel preferences. She made note that the baroness still said 'simply' more often than the average person and chalked it up to differences in dialect. "My apologies, your ladyship, but you mentioned you had been looking for me?"

"Ah, yes! I have come to invite you personally to the masquerade ball I shall be throwing to celebrate our return to Kirkwall," she said with that bright grin of hers. "You will be getting a formal invitation in your post, of course, but I thought I should invite you myself."

"I am honored," Hawke said with a polite half-bow. "My mother and I rarely miss an opportunity to attend any social event of yours." 

That seemed to please her greatly and she squeezed Hawke's arm. "I am so glad. I have just the gown for you."

"Wait... for me?"

"Why, yes!" she crooned. "Oh, you simply _must_ come and allow me to prepare you. I have a simply _gorgeous_ gown that I have brought from home, but it is too long for me. You and I are of... how you say... same size? You are taller, of course, but I think this gown will fit you perfectly. You _must_ allow me to dress you. I will not take no for an answer."

"Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?" Hawke said with a tight smile. She would admit the frilly, corseted gowns her mother usually dressed her in obviously were not her favorite, but Hawke groaned internally to think of what kind of extravagant frock Simone would put her in. In the end, it was for the sake of keeping her secret so, what else could she do but agree?

* * *

"Blondie's here," Varric said, as he looked out the doorway from his seat at the table. "Looking a little more mopey than usual."

"Wonderful," Fenris groaned from where he'd been reading quietly with his feet propped up on the table. 

"I'm always anxious to see how the story ends between you two," Varric said with a wistful sigh. "I'm almost certain that one of you kills the other or you end up having broody, hateful sex. I bet there will be a lot of hair pulling either way."

"And I bet that your mouth is what inevitably gets you killed," Fenris said, not lifting his eyes from his book.

"Please, snowball," Varric scoffed with a wave of his hand. "My mouth gets me _out_ of trouble, not into it."

"Famous last words," Fenris warned. 

"Varric," Anders said by way of greeting as he entered.

"Hello, Blondie," Varric said with a smile. "Didn't know if you'd be showing up."

"I haven't missed a game in months," Anders said with a shrug. "Can't sit in the clinic and dwell forever."

"Of course," Fenris said without looking up from his book. "Can't let something trivial like almost killing your friend dampen your spirits."

"Did you come here with the sole intention of trying to make me feel worse than I already do?"

"I came here to read as we wait for the others," Fenris said. "Making you feel guilty for something that was very much your fault is added benefit."

Anders snorted an angry laugh through his nose before thanking Moira for the pint she brought him. Fenris could feel the mage looking at him, but he made a point of keeping his attention on the pages of his book. 

"I didn't know they taught slaves to read," Anders taunted.

"And I didn't know they taught imbeciles to be Grey Wardens," Fenris said, turning a page. "So I suppose we both learned something."

"Honestly, you two," Varric groaned, rubbing his eyes. "You were getting along so well."

"That was when his ignorance was merely insufferable rather than a danger to us all," Fenris shot back. He'd been pulling his punches in the name of camaraderie for too long. The moment Anders put Hawke's life in danger was the moment he stopped playing nice.

"Hawke," Varric said, raising his hands toward where she was walking in. "Thank the Maker. The children are at it again."

"And yet I am unsurprised," she said with a smile. 

"Hawke," Anders said, making his way to her and wrapping her in his arms. "I'm so sorry."

"I know, Anders, it's alright." She pulled back and offered him a smile that Fenris was sure the mage didn't deserve. "Fair's fair, I _did_ prank you first."

"Yes," Fenris said, pretending his attention was on his book. "Nothing like attempted murder as payback for involuntary cross-dressing." 

"Fenris," Hawke warned.

"He's right," Anders said, taking Hawke's hands. "I still feel terrible. I never should have thrown you into the water without knowing if you could swim."

"Come on, Blondie," Varric said, motioning to a seat. "Relax. It's over." 

"You should have told me," Anders said, raising his gaze to Hawke's face again.

"You're probably right," she said. "But I was ashamed, Anders. I didn't tell anyone. Varric didn't even know."

"True story," Varric said, raising his mead. 

"Then how did Fenris know?" Anders asked. "Don't get me wrong, thank the Maker he knew."

"I told Fenris because..." she trailed off, and Fenris could tell she was trying to find something to say that didn't give away his secret. "It came up in conversation," she finally said. 

Fenris spoke up to prevent her from having to lie for him. "Are you insinuating that your almost drowning her was somehow _her_ fault because she hadn't told you?"

"Of course not," Anders snapped. "I take full responsibility."

"What a delightful change of pace," Fenris droned.

"Fenris, please," Hawke said, looking at him over her shoulder, rather effectively silencing him before returning her attention back to Anders. "It's alright, Anders. I'm not upset with you, and I don't blame you."

"Thank you," he said softly, pulling her into a hug again. 

Fenris rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to his book, trying to concentrate on the words and not the trivial conversation. He felt like he'd read the same sentence twelve times and still had no idea what it said. He had no intention of letting Anders live down his mistake. Perhaps if they were all very lucky, he could keep the mage ashamed enough to prevent him from succumbing further to his madness.

"You know," Anders said as he and Hawke took their seats. "I could teach you to swim if you wanted." 

Fenris let out a harsh laugh as he continued to read.

"And why is that funny?" Anders groaned.

"I was just thinking that your _last_ lesson went rather poorly for her," Fenris chimed. 

"You know very well that wasn't—"

"Yes, nothing to make a student feel safe quite like, 'Remember that time I almost killed you'."

"You're not being fair," Anders sneered. "I didn't know."

Fenris went to say something about ignorance being no excuse but Hawke spoke first and ensured his silence.

"That's very kind of you, Anders," she said, "but Fenris already offered to teach me." Fenris could tell she regretted mentioning it the moment the words left her mouth. 

"Him?" Anders asked, pointing a thumb back at Fenris. "You think _he_ has the patience to teach you?"

"Where I am lacking in patience," Fenris said, finally closing his book and leveling his eyes at the mage, "I make up for in not having already attempted to drown her."

"Children, please," Hawke sighed, in an attempt to break the tension. "Fenris, stop being a prick. Anders, stop baiting him. I didn't come down here tonight to play parent to the likes of you two."

"Praise the Maker, Amen," Varric said into his mug. 

Fenris was about to protest, but she looked at him and raised her eyebrows in that challenging way that told him he would be sorry if he continued, so he closed his mouth and opened his book again. He didn't intend to let up on the mage by any means, but perhaps he needed to pick his words more carefully when Hawke was nearby.

* * *

"You don't have to be so hard on him, you know," Hawke said as they walked back to Hightown together. 

Fenris didn't bother pretending not to know what she was talking about. "He nearly killed you, Hawke. _Someone_ should be taking offense." 

"It changes nothing to beat him down at every opportunity. I think he's learned his lesson."

"Do you?" Fenris asked. 

"I do," she confirmed. "Even if he hasn't though, what does your constant berating do? It certainly doesn't change the circumstances of the situation, just like it wouldn't change anything if you hadn't managed to save me."

"Make no mistake," he said, his tone clipped and tight. "Had you not lived to hear my berating, neither would he have."

He saw out of the corner of his eye that she ducked her head, and when he turned to look at her she was looking in the opposite direction, taking a seeming interest in the storefronts. It was a few more moments of silence before she spoke again. 

"Be that as it may," she said. "You still didn't answer my question. What do you hope to accomplish by kicking him while he's down?"

He exhaled through his nose and linked his hands behind his back, not exactly liking the idea of discussing it with her. "I am trying to help you," he said softly. 

"Help me?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"

"It is obvious that — despite my protests and proof that it is a _terrible_ idea — you are determined to help the abomination, correct?"

"Well, yes," she said. 

"I do not think there is much point in it," he said, keeping his gaze trained ahead. "But if you are so determined, I will help you however I can."

She was silent for a long time, long enough that he was eventually forced to look at her and take in the stunned look on her face. 

"...What?" he finally asked. 

She narrowed her eyes, mouth still hanging open before she finally spoke. "You're... trying to help him?"

"Yes."

"By... harping on him?"

"Yes."

"How can you possibly think you are helping him?" she asked. "If anything, you are probably quickening his descent."

"And what would you have me do?" he asked calmly, arching an eyebrow at her. "Coddle him with pretty words as you do?"

"You could try telling him you believe in him."

"I _don't_ believe in him," he shot back. "In fact, I think it very likely that he will succumb and kill a great many people." 

"Giving it a try surely couldn't _hurt."_

"Would he think me sincere if I were to suddenly start treating him with kindness?" he asked as they approached the square. "Do you think he would take it for anything other than the patronizing condescension that it would be?"

"Well... perhaps not at first, but—"

"Hawke," he said, turning to her as they stopped walking in front of her home. "Anders has plenty of support; he has Varric to keep him laughing, you and Merrill give him plenty of kindness and rallying, and even when they disagree Isabella and Aveline are both kind to him. The entirety of the Undercity showers him in praise day in and day out. He has plenty of _friendship_ for which he should be fighting, and if all that is not enough, then adding me certainly will not be the deciding factor." He shrugged his shoulders and exhaled. "So in the event that friendship should fail, perhaps hatred will succeed."

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in that way she did when she was trying to read his expression, not in an accusatory fashion but almost as if she were trying to translate an ancient text on a wall. 

"How?" she finally asked, shaking her head. "Who would ever fight for hatred?"

He was silent for a few moments, carefully picking his words before he spoke. "In the tale that Anders has... concocted in his mind, I have no doubt that he thinks of himself as playing the part of the downtrodden hero. It is my hope, however small, that by playing the villain, his desire to prove me wrong might be the weight that tips the scale in our favor." He exhaled through his nose and shook his head. "I do not wish to see him succumb to his demon anymore than you do. Perhaps if we are lucky, when he has fallen far enough to where your voice cannot reach him, I will be the voice in his head that strengthens his resolve."

Her expression was more or less indecipherable to him, but that was hardly unusual. Whether it was a specific skill Hawke possessed or his incompetence with emotional expression, he didn't know, but he certainly hadn't expected her to press a hand to the center of his chest. He looked down at it, feeling the hum of his lyrium reacting to her touch even through his tunic, then met her gaze again hoping that his face asked the question he didn't voice.

"You are good, Fenris," she said softly. 

He swallowed thickly. "At... what?" he asked. 

She laughed, a small, light sound. "A great many things," she said, "but I'm speaking generally. Underneath all your rough edges and abrasive words, you are... you are very _good,_ Fenris."

He felt his expression drop, felt his lips part and his eyebrows lift, felt heat rise into his face and felt his ears flatten back slightly. No one had ever said that to him before, not in that way. He'd been called 'good boy' and praised for doing a 'good job'. He recalled Hawke telling him he was a good friend and a good man early on, but it had never quite meant what it did now. She wasn't just saying that she _liked_ him; she was implying that in his core, maybe his soul, that despite all she knew of him, he was a force for good. 

He swallowed again, his eyebrows starting to knit together. Nerves he didn't understand rolled through his stomach and a fear he was becoming all-too-familiar with whispered at the back of his mind. 

_No,_ he wanted to say to her. No, Hawke. I'm not. 

But that wasn't what he said. How could he? She was looking at him so earnestly and was so close to him and he couldn't even properly form the words on his tongue. So instead, he chose silence, setting his jaw and hoping his expression revealed nothing of his internal struggle. He took a slow, deep breath, feeling the way her hand moved against his chest.

"Thank you," she said, smiling that smile of hers. "Thank you for trying to help him, even if it's unconventional. The fact that you are even attempting it in your own way... I think it would mean a lot to him."

"I am not doing it for him," he said simply. The words came easily because they were the truth. Plain and simple.

Her expression dropped only briefly before she smiled at him. "Thank you all the same," she said as she pulled her hand off of his chest. 

"Goodnight, Hawke," he said softly, nodding to her as he turned to leave.

"Goodnight, Fenris," he heard her say behind him. He listened as she made her way into her home, and waited for the sound of her front door closing to turn around and look at the spot she had just been standing in. 

_You are very **good** , Fenris. _

He put his hand on his chest where hers had been, staring at her front door while her voice echoed across his mind. She got in his head so easily, reached in his chest and stirred him up and pushed him in one direction and pulled him in another. She said and did things that stirred emotions in him, feelings he didn't understand or have a clue how to deal with. Yet she did it so naturally. Was this always how friendships affected people? It would explain why it seemed so easy for her while it sent his rational mind into upheaval. He wondered if he'd ever be as comfortable with it as she seemed to be, or if his ineptitude for social interaction would keep his mind in a state of utter chaos where she was concerned. He was sure that Hawke offered the others the same kindnesses and considerations she gave him, but none of them ever seemed ill at ease about it. 

He finally turned to head toward the mansion, deciding that it had to only be him who had these particular reactions to her friendship. He would grow used to it eventually, he hoped. She could not stir these emotions in him forever.


	23. The Masquerade

Fenris furrowed his brow and pulled his bow across the strings of his violin, hoping to relieve some of his frustration.He was starting to suspect that Hawke had no real intention of allowing him to teach her to swim at all. 

It had been three weeks since the incident on the Wounded Coast. Their reading lessons had continued regardless of the fact that Fenris was practically proficient already. Whenever he would bring up swimming, she would change the subject — and maybe he was growing soft, because he would always allow her to. 

She had good reason to be afraid, Fenris knew that. Still, the more time went on, the more anxious he was to teach her. He might not be there the next time she found herself thrown into deep water, and the idea of her sinking to the bottom of the ocean with no one swimming after her was starting to keep him awake nights. 

He wondered if Bethany and Carver had ever attempted to teach their elder sibling to swim. He figured Hawke would have never allowed it. Her crippling fear aside, he knew very well that she had tried to be a role model to her siblings. Showing that kind of fear in front of them was probably not something she was likely to do. 

Fenris paused in his playing as the thought occurred to him. Bethany. Perhaps she would have the answer. He looked out his window, determining that the sun had not yet fully set and he could easily make a trip to the Gallows. It had been more than three years since Bethany was taken to the Circle of Magi and, regardless that she was a mage, Fenris had never any cause to dislike the youngest Hawke. His only other option would be consulting Leandra on the subject, and Fenris was in no hurry to do that. 

The templars were not pleased to have Fenris asking for an audience with Bethany. They took his weapon and armor and did a thorough inspection of the tattoos in his arms to ensure that they weren't any kind of magic. Eventually they seemed content that he wasn't some kind of rogue mage, just a 'knife-ear' with more 'knife-ear-nonsense' tattooed on him. He didn't care to correct them. 

He was escorted into the keep by two guards who told him to wait quietly while Bethany was summoned. Fenris stood awkwardly in the small visiting room, hands behind his back as he looked at the random art on the walls. It was mostly paintings of the Chantry from different angles and a portrait of the Grand Cleric. When the door opened again, Fenris spun around to see Bethany in her Circle robes being escorted by a templar, looking at him with no small amount of astonishment. 

"Fenris?"

"Bethany," he said, shifting awkwardly on his feet. 

She gave him a smile he wasn't expecting as she stepped into the room. The templar shut the door behind her as she crossed the small distance to wrap Fenris in her arms.He tensed under the contact as he felt his lyrium reacting to her touch even through her clothes.This was how it always felt when someone caused his lyrium to react, uncomfortable bordering on painful. For some reason, it was only Hawke whose touch he found comforting over the hum of his lyrium. 

"It's been too long," the mage said, squeezing him before pulling away. 

"Yes," he confirmed, rolling out his shoulders and exhaling a slow breath in an attempt to calm the buzz in his skin. "Thank you for, uh..." he cleared his throat, "granting me your time."

"Of course," she said as she took a seat and motioned for him to do the same. "Though, I must admit I was not expecting you to come see me. I know how you feel about mages."

"You are not just a mage," he said as he awkwardly took a seat across from her. "You are Hawke's sister and... and she is my friend."

A grin broke onto Bethany's face that told Fenris she and Hawke were very much siblings. "Well, I am certainly glad for the company," she said, smoothing her skirts."I don't get a lot of visitors besides my mother and sister, Varric occasionally with his... atrocious works of fiction. They're amusing, at the very least, but _Maker,_ they're embarrassing."

"I have yet to suffer through one," Fenris admitted, tapping his fingers on his knee. He had never been very good at small talk, but it was unavoidable when he was the only other person in the room. Hawke and Varric were usually the ones to fill silences, Fenris was usually content to let silence fill a room. That would not do this time, however. For once Fenris was the one with something that needed to be said.

"You don't have to be nervous, Fenris," Bethany said with a small laugh. "I know you didn't just come here for the privilege of my company. Is there something you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Yes," he said with a relieved exhale, glad that she made the jump for him. Navigating polite conversation was still exhausting for him. "I have come for your... point of view. I could not think of anyone else worth consulting on the subject."

A very slow, deliberate smile spread onto her face. "This is about my sister, isn't it?"

He quirked a curious brow. "She's already spoken to you?"

Bethany seemed to light up. "Oh, Fenris, of course she told me! This is so exciting! I don't know why you came to me, but I promise you have my full support."

"Erm... Thank you, I suppose," he said, confused by her enthusiasm. He didn't exactly understand why Hawke learning to swim was such an exciting prospect to Bethany, but he never claimed to understand such matters in the first place. "I was wondering how you would recommend I proceed. I've been met with no small amount of resistance."

"Resistance?" She clapped excitedly. "Does this mean you've already attempted to move forward?

"Of course.I first made the offer months ago."

That seemed to confuse her. " _Months_ ago? She's avoided you for so long?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "It wasn't until the incident on the Wounded Coast that she finally agreed to let me teach her, but she still avoids the subject whenever I bring it up."

Bethany tilted her head to the side and knit her eyebrows together. " _Teach_ her?" she asked. "Teach her what, Fenris?"

"To swim," he said, though it almost sounded like a question. "Because she almost _drowned_ three weeks ago?"

"She _what?"_

Fenris arched a confused eyebrow. He was admittedly terrible at holding polite conversation but he was fairly certain something had goneawry this time around. "Wait," he said, putting up a hand. "So she _didn't_ tell you? What have we been talking about?"

She seemed to deflate and waved a dismissive hand. "Something completely unrelated, obviously," she sighed. "It doesn't matter,it's an entirely different subject. Why don't you just start from the beginning?"

Fenris was confused but decided that whatever it was Bethany had _thought_ they were talking about wasn't any of his business, so he did as she asked. He explained about the prank and how Anders' revenge went horribly wrong, forcing Fenris to save her because he'd been the only one who knew about her fear. When Bethany inevitably asked how he knew about it, he was forced to relay to her about his inability to read and Hawke's gift to him. He figured there was no shame in telling Bethany, because who would she possibly tell? Even if she told someone, it mattered little now that he had learned. He did, however, make a mental note that Hawke had kept his inability to read a secret even from her sister. 

"Maker, she didn't tell me any of this," Bethany said, hand over her chest. "And Anders threw her off the cliff when?"

"Just over three weeks ago." 

"Why, that miserable shrew," she scoffed, crossing her arms. "She didn't breathe a word when she was here last week."

"She did not wish to worry you, no doubt," Fenris said. 

"And you say she agreed to let you teach her, but refuses to actually commit to it?"

"Exactly," he said with a nod. "I was hoping you could provide me with insight as to what—"

He was interrupted by a crash outside the door and the sounds of screaming. The guard shouted for help just before his cries were cut off by a gurgling sound. 

"Maker, what's happening?" Bethany asked as she shot to her feet. 

"Quiet," Fenris whispered harshly, taking her by the arm and pulling her behind him on the other side of the room. Fenris tried to concentrate on listening to the shouting outside the door as it seemed to get closer and closer to them. He had no weapon and no armor; if they were discovered, it would prove problematic. 

"She's in here!" someone shouted from outside. 

"Take the mage alive!"

Fenris and Bethany instantly looked at each other. "They're... they're after _me?"_ she asked.

* * *

Well, this night wasn't turning out anything like how Bethany imagined. Here she thought she was going to have another quiet game of cards, maybe read a book by the fire. She'd grown good and comfortable with the quiet life of a Circle mage. 

When she was told she had a visitor, she never in a thousand years would have thought to see Fenris waiting for her. She expected her sister and more swooning _about_ the elf and his unique brand of smolder, but certainly not Fenris himself.

If Fenris was unexpected, the assault on the keep had been a complete shock. Not only were there obvious sounds of invaders attacking the Gallows, but they were after _her?_ Why? It didn't make any sense. She'd been in the Circle over three years.Who in the world would try to get to her now?

"I can't use magic," she said as she turned to Fenris, almost pleading with him. "I mean, I can protect us but... if the templars see me using offensive magic, they'll make me tranquil." 

It was true that Knight Commander Meredith had long since banned offensive spells from being practiced and taught in the circle, and even with Bethany's extensive knowledge she'd had beforehand and First Enchanter Orsino's secret teachings, she still wouldn't dare let the templars find a scorched corpse that only led back to her.

"Then stay behind me," Fenris demanded as the intruders started to beat down the door.

Bethany swallowed and put her hands on Fenris' shoulders, watching as he clenched his fists and forced the lyrium in his skin aglow. She could literally _feel_ the power within him, the lyrium under her hands was like lightning, charging her bones full of energy. When it was clear that the door was about to give way, Fenris reached for the table in the middle of the room and flipped it onto its side. He turned to Bethany andforced her to crouch behind via a hard hand on her shoulder.

When the door finally burst open there was a party of dwarves, eyes dark as pitch, calling — quite literally — for blood. 

"Dwarves? Maker, I think I've had my fill of surprises for this evening," she said, turning just in time to see Fenris launch himself over the table. 

"We found her!" one of the dwarves shouted just before Fenris heel-kicked him in the chest and sent him reeling back into his comrades. 

Bethany peeked over the top of the table, watching Fenris, teeth bared and glowing like a beacon as he jumped over a wide swing of an axe.Whenthe dwarf's weapon imbedded into the wall Fenrisused the opening to reach through the dwarf's back and swiftly pull out his heart.

Fenris didn't have his armor, so Bethany took a deep breath and waved a hand to surround him in a protective aura just as he wrenched the axe out of the wall.He looked down at himself, noting the odd glow, then looked back at her before he turned to the remaining three dwarves charging him. He swung the axe in large arcs, cleaving through them easily and not even flinching when he was hit. The spell she had cast only prevented the weapons from piercing the skin, which meant he still would feel the blunt force of the swings. Though from watching she could hardly tell, he took them as if they were so many bug bites. 

Oh yes, she could definitely see why her sister had taken a shine to the elf.

Once he felled the last dwarf, he looked down the hallway before turning around and wordlessly holding his hand out to her. She didn't hesitate to come around the table and take it before allowing him to start pulling her down the hallway. 

"More are coming," he said softly as they ran toward the courtyard. "I don't suppose you have any idea what's going on?" 

"None," she said. "You heard them, right? They were after me specifically. What could they possibly want with a Circle mage?"

He didn't reply, just continued to run until they came to the end of the hallway that would lead them out to the main courtyard. It was in complete upheaval as dwarves threw themselves against the wall of templars protecting the gallows. Fenris turned to see if they could go back the direction they came, but another group was already barreling down the hallway toward them. 

"Get her!" one shouted.

"Corypheus will be free!"

Fenris sneered something angry, and Bethany wasn't quite sure if it was in another language or if she just didn't understand him.

"I'm sorry?" she said.

"Keep moving," he barked, grabbing her forearm and pulling her out into the courtyard. 

"There she is!"

"Give us the girl!"

"Corypheus needs her blood!"

Bethany held up her skirt with her free hand as she followed after Fenris, keeping them both protected with her magic as they ran and dodged the projectiles.

"Look out!" Fenris shouted, whirling around to push Bethany _hard_ in the chest, sending her flying onto her back. She heard the flask shatter on the ground and looked up just in time to see Fenris be swallowed up by smoke and fire. 

"Fenris!" she called as she tried to get back to her feet. A dwarf grabbed her wrist and she kicked him, trying to wrench her hand free. Two more dwarves joined in, one taking her by the wrist of her free hand, and the other grabbing her belt to help the others pull her along. "Let me go!" she shouted, thrashing her arms as they tried to pull her away. She dug her heels into the ground and closed her eyes, throwing her hands out and pushing a wave of telekinetic force in every direction, sending the three dwarves sprawling to the ground. 

She ran to Fenris just as the smoke was clearing and he was trying to get back to his feet, obviously disoriented. She wrapped his arm over her shoulders and turned them both to run towards the north tower.

"Miss Bethany!" one of the templars called to her as they approached. 

Fenris removed his arm from around Bethany's shoulders, taking on his own weight and leaning against a wall. "Protect her," he growled to the templar as he turned back toward the carnage.

"Fenris, wait!" she called after him, snatching his arm and turning him back around. "I'll go with you."

Fenris wrenched his arm out of her grasp and leveled her with his steely gaze. "No," he said resolutely. "Hawke has lost enough already."

Bethany watched him go for as long as she could before the Templar ushered her into the tower. She prayed for his safety. What would she have done had he had not been there?

* * *

These dwarves did not seem sane. They kept shouting about blood and 'Corypheus', running straight into Fenris' axe swings and the multitude of templar guards. It wasn't until he heard one of them shout something about 'the blood of the Hawk' that Fenris started to pay attention to their words. 

Blood of the Hawk? They couldn't be talking about hisHawke, could they?

Wait... _his_ Hawke?

His temporary lapse in sense gave one of the dwarves the opening to hook their axe behind his calf and send him reeling onto his back. He crashed onto the ground, managing to roll out of the way before the axe came plummeting down on his chest. Once he was back on his feet, he managed to get the axe he was using back but not before an arrow pierced him. Luckily, it managed to skim only the flesh of his side and not go through his stomach and vital organs. 

With the added strength of the templars, it was only a matter of time before the dwarves were all dead. Even as it became obvious that the dwarves would lose, they didn't retreat; they seemed perfectly content to die at the hands of the templars. Fenris tossed the axe onto the ground as he waded through the corpses, looking for the one who had appeared to be their leader and rifling through his pockets. He found a parchment that looked like correspondence between members, but he only managed to see the words 'Corypheus', 'blood', and 'bootstraps' before one of the guards began to shout at him. He pocketed the parchment and made his way toward the commotion. 

"What the hell is going on?" a templar was raging as he stomped toward Fenris.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Fenris groaned, holding his side. He realized he recognized the templar from running around with Hawke and Varric, but for the life of him, Fenris couldn't remember his name.

"You mean to tell me that the one night you come here to see the Amell girl is the night we get attacked by mad dwarves? And they just so happen to be after the exact mage you were here to see?"

"If you're implying that I was somehow involved in this, I think you have rather definitive proof to the contrary."

"Cullen, Fenris," Bethany called, having been released from the tower. "He's not involved, Cullen, he protected me."

"Why in the hell are dwarves after you, Bethany?" Cullen asked. 

"I... I have no idea," she said, shaking her head. She noticed Fenris holding his side and pulled his hand away. "Fenris, you're bleeding!"

"Do not trouble yourself, I'm fine."

"Cullen, he saved me," Bethany said softly,"and hehelped protect the keep. I'm going to heal him."

Cullen exhaled a disapproving breath before motioning his head. "Be quick about it. I need to make sure the compound is clear."

As the templar marched off toward the damage, Bethany put her hands on Fenris' side and he winced when he felt the familiar feeling of magic under his skin. 

"Thank goodness you were here," she said softly. 

"I do not think they were here for you," he said softly, not wanting anyone else to hear. "I heard one of them say something about the 'blood of the Hawk'."

"What?" Bethany asked, standing upright once his wound was healed. "If they're after Anara, why would they come after me?"

"My question exactly," he said. "I can only think there has been some mistake or..."

"Or they know we're related," she finished for him. "Oh, Fenris, they could be going after her! What if—"

"Do not go into hysterics," he interrupted firmly. "I will find her, and we will figure out what is going on. Stay in the Circle tower under guard until we send word." 

She nodded and swallowed thickly, reaching out to put her hand on his forearm, and he flinched under the uncomfortable sensation of his lyrium igniting. 

"Take care of her," she said, though it sounded like a question. 

"I intend to."

* * *

"He didn't quite kiss her," Varric read from his latest pages, "he more traced the shape of her lips with his own. He could feel the shiver that shot down her spine even through the fabric of her dressing gown, and it bolstered his courage. He closed the last breath of distance between them and pressed their lips together, relishing the sensation when she melted against him."

Isabela sighed wistfully. "It's about time," she said, leaning back in her chair. "I was beginning to think you'd never get them together."

"I was considering killing him off," Varric said with a grin as he slid his glasses off his nose, "but I didn't want you storming into my room in the middle of the night half naked and _all_ drunk demanding I rewrite it. Again."

"I still haven't forgiven you for killing off Claude before he could shag Marina. Damned cruel of you."

"Don't blame me, the characters write the story I just—"

"Dwarf!" Fenris bellowed as he charged into the room. "Hawke, is she here?" he asked as he looked around the room. 

"Elf," Varric said, taking his feet off the table and leaning forward. He was so surprised by the elf's urgency that he completely forgot to give him one of his colorful rotating nicknames. "Where's the fire?"

"What? There is no _fire,"_ the elf sneered. "I am looking for Hawke. She is not at home and if she is not here..."

"Relax, Fenris," Isabela said. "She's at the masquerade ball the De'Lauresare throwing. She's been there since this afternoon."

Varric noticed the elf relax, but only slightly. "Calm your broody, glowing self and have a seat," Varric said. "What's got you in such a fit?"

"The Gallows were just invaded," Fenris said, reaching into his shirt to pull out a piece of parchment. "They were after Bethany."

Now that got Varric's attention. "Sunshine? What did they want?"

"I don't know," he said. "They were dwarves. Their leader had this on him." 

Fenris slid the parchment across the table and Varric quickly reached for it. He knew something was off immediately. "This is a guild seal," he said, thumbing over the wax. "What in the flaming blue hell would the Carta want with Sunshine?"

"You're sure it's the Carta?" Isabela asked. 

"Positive," Varric said as he turned his attention back to Fenris. "Are _you_ sure they were after Bethany?"

"Yes," Fenris said, motioning his head at the letter. "Read it."

Varric did just that, not even bothering to put his glasses back on since he knew damned well he didn't need them. 

_Boran,  
_

You've located one of them. This is excellent news. Remember; we need her alive. Corypheus needs her blood still pumping. Do him proud, and bring us the blood of the Hawke so that our master may be free. I don't care if you have to drag them back by their bootstraps, Corypheus will reign! Do us proud, brother.

Morus

"Blood of the Hawke?" Varric asked. "If they were after Hawke why would they attack the Gallows?"

"Either they made a mistake or they know that Bethany is also a Hawke," Fenris said urgently. "Regardless—"

"You think Hawke is in danger," Varric finished.

"Exactly," Fenris said, sounding rather relived that Varric had come to the same conclusion. "We need to find her."

"What do you expect to do?" Isabela asked. "Charge into a private function and demand her presence? Blow her cover as Anara Amell and cause a rather spectacular scene?"

"Do you have a _better_ suggestion?" Fenris asked through his teeth. 

"As a matter of fact," Isabela said, wiggling her shoulders at him. "I do."

* * *

" _This_ is your idea?" Fenris sneered as Isabela invaded the coat closet at the ball.

"Hush," she whispered as she thumbed through the different coats that were hanging in the large coat check. 

Fenris rubbed his eyes before bending down to pull the — now unconscious — guard further into the room so he wasn't seen. They had snuck in through the servant's entrance and, thanks to Isabela's particular way with words, managed to get to the coat closet without causing much of a scene. She had forced Fenris to go home and change out of his armor and into the long-sleeved black tunic, trousers, and boots that they'd used while scaring off Carver's loan shark.

"Here we are," Isabela said, pulling a hooded cloak off of the hook it was hanging on. Before they left the Hanged Man, she had retrieved a red sash from her room that was now hanging from her belt. She removed it and gave it to him. "Put this on first."

"What is it?" he asked as he unfolded it.

"It's a mask, of course. You can't go into a masquerade ball without a mask."

" _Me?"_ he asked, confused. "You expect _me_ to go get her?"

"Of course," she said, sounding rather bored. "Why else would I bring you along?"

"Surely you are more equipped to do this than I," he argued. 

"Nonsense, look at me," she said, motioning her free hand down the length of her body. "Costume or no costume, I'm going to draw attention."

"And a tattooed elf with white hair will go unnoticed?"

"That's what this is for," she said, rolling her eyes and shaking the cloak she was holding. "Do you want to get Hawke out of here or not?"

Fenris exhaled through his nose, looking down at the large maroon piece of fabric with eyeholes cut into it. _"I must be out of my mind,"_ he growled in Tevene as he started to tie it around his face. 

"That's the spirit," she said with a grin before wrapping the cloak around his shoulders and fastening it in front of his throat.

"I am going to regret this," he mumbled under his breath as he pulled the hood up over his head.

"Look at you," Isabela crooned, crossing her arms and sinking into a hip in that way she did as she raked her eyes over his costume. "Very dark and mysterious, Fenris. I may have to dress you up more often."

"Spare me," he sneered, turning to follow her out of the coat closet. 

They crept silently down the hallway toward the servant's stairwell to make their way up to the second floor. They snuck onto the platform that overlooked the ballroom, looking down at the large crowd from over the banister. Fenris, like he always did, found Hawke instantly. She was on the far end of the ballroom in a dark red gown with no sleeves that left her shoulders and arms bare. Her hair was bound back in curls and her mask matched her dress, painted in reds and adored with extravagant feathers. He was relieved to see that she was safe, regardless that he could tell she was frightfully bored.

"Maker that's a lot of people," Isabela said. "And all of them masked. How are you even going to find her?"

"She's right there," Fenris said simply, motioning his head across the room. 

"What? Where?"

"In the... red gown on the other side.The red mask with all the feathers."

"Hum... She's certainly _built_ like Hawke," Isabela said, turning her head to the side. "How can you be certain?"

"I just am," he said curtly, in no mood to go on a diatribe about how she moved and held herself different from anyone else in the room. The last thing he wanted to do was explain how he'd managed to pick her out of a crowd easily for the past year when he would see her outside his window. 

He didn't stay to argue about it with her. He had no intention of spending anymore time in the damned mansion than he had to. He slunk down the stairs, knowing exactly how to make himself small and unnoticeable from all the years of galas and parties in Tevinter. He stuck close to the wall until he was closer to the group Hawke was in; then he crept through the crowd, doing all he could not to draw any attention to himself as he approached her from behind.

He cleared his throat loudly, but she did not have an elf's hearing and it was lost in the roar of the ballroom. Her shoulders and arms were completely bare, so grabbing her arm and turning her around might earn him a fist to the face rather than polite conversation.

"Miss Amell," he said, straightening his shoulders. "Good evening."

He could tell she recognized his voice by the way she whirled around, instantly lowering her feathered mask. 

Her entire getup had been lost on Fenris, but when she turned around and revealed her face, something inside him stopped. Her face was painted in dark red and brown hues, making her fiery golden eyes stand out like beacons in the dim ballroom. His lips parted unconsciously and his entire body went rigid and tense. A sharp awareness struck through his core and without even knowing it, he'd stopped breathing. 

He had seen her dressed formally plenty of times, though always from a distance and never so expertly as she was now. Even as perfectly as the dress fit her and as skillfully as her hair was bound in curls, the blatant femininity still didn't seem to suit her.

It wasn't until her eyes — blazing like sunsets in her sharp face — met his that something in him responded. They seemed to burn through him, a heat he didn't understand crawling over his skin. His head tiled to the side ever so slightly and he could feel his brow beginning to furrow in his confusion.

She said his name, but he didn't so much hear it as much as he saw her painted lips form the word. It wasn't until she grabbed him hard by his bicep that he snapped from his trance.

* * *

"Fenris?" Hawke said as she turned around. She'd recognize his voice anywhere, but she had to be mistaken. Fenris would never be _here._ That was ridiculous. 

Except it _was_ Fenris. 

Even if she _weren't_ able to recognize those green of his eyes instantly, the lyrium on his chin was a more-than-subtle clue. Her mind raced with the 'why's and 'how's, but he didn't say anything, he just stood there staring at her with that same unreadable expression that was so hard for her to interpret. He almost looked confused, like he was studying her face with the same scrutinizing attention he gave to a word he couldn't read.

 _"Fenris,"_ Hawke sneered quietly, gripping his bicep as hard as she could to get him to speak and speak quickly. "What the hell are you doing here? Are you out of your bloody mind? Do you know what would happen if—"

"Bethany was attacked," he blurted out before swallowing a hard breath. "She's fine now," he added quickly before she could panic. 

"What?" she asked, feeling her face pale. "What happened?"

"We should not do this here," he said, taking a cursory glance around. 

"I cannot simply leave," she said quickly, looking around."My absence will be noticed." Sure enough, when she turned back toward the group she had been talking to, Simone was detaching herself from the handsome man she had been engaging and was floating toward them. 

Maker, Hawke could already hear it. 

_Ooh-lah-lah, Miss Amell, who is your mysterious new friend, mmm?_

"Dance with me," she said urgently, turning back to him. 

"What?" he asked, clearly appalled by the suggestion. 

She held out her hand like a lady would but knew that her glare told him that it was not an option. "Dance with me," she said through her teeth. 

His eyes darted down to her hand then back to her face before his jaw set in those hard lines it did when he was frustrated, but he relented and took her hand before leading her toward where everyone was dancing. 

"Do you know how to dance?" she asked him quietly as they walked.

"Regrettably," he groaned before turning to pull her into his arms, wrapping one hand around the small of her back. He held her left hand up by her wrist since she was holding her mask in that hand, then he effortlessly pulled her into step with the rest of the dancers. 

Fenris was obviously a much better dancer than Hawke. She didn't know why she was surprised, he knew how to do damned near everything else except fly and breathe fire. It figured, really. Of all the times she had daydreamed of being in the elf's arms, this was how it had to actually happen.

She was starting to think that 'disappointing' was the natural state of being for her love life. Or lack thereof.

"The Gallows were attacked," he said as he led her around the floor, "by dwarves, no less. They were after Bethany for some reason."

She didn't know whether to be horrified by the news or relieved that the conversation was distracting her from how close they were. "How do you know all of this?" she asked.

"I was with her during the assault. I found a letter on the corpse of their leader; Varric says they were from the guild."

"The Cotorie?"

"The Carta," he corrected. 

"Did the letter say why they were after Bethany?"

"Not exactly, but there were several mentions of 'the blood of the Hawke'."

Hawke suddenly realized why he found it necessary to interrupt the ball to speak with her. "If they were after me, why did they go after Bethany?" She asked. "That doesn't make sense."

"The letter did not spell 'the Hawk' like your alter ego," he said, glancing around the room. "It was your last name. I fear they know Bethany is a Hawke as well."

Hawke swallowed. She felt her heart speed up and her blood run cold. If they knew Bethany was her sister, she could be in terrible danger. What's more, it would only be a matter of time before her secret got out and then her _mother_ would also be in danger. This could prove to be quite the disaster.

As if sensing her sudden fear, his hand firmed on the small of her back, pressing her against him a little."They are all dead for now," he said softly. "But if they are after Hawke siblings, it is only a matter of time before they realize that you are an easier target than your heavily guarded sister."

"I thought you said they were all dead?"

"All those who attacked the Gallows, yes," he said. "I presume that whoever sent the letter to their leader is still alive and awaiting the return of their comrades."

Hawke exhaled, and unconsciously slid her right hand down from his shoulder to the top of his chest. She didn't exactly look at him, more lookedthrough him as she ran the implications of it all in her head. 

"Why does this keep happening?" she asked, more speaking to herself as she looked down at her feet. 

"I originally thought it was just you," he said. "But in light of recent events, I am coming to the conclusion that it is genetic."

She laughed, probably the first genuine laugh of the whole evening. She had not been thrilled to see Fenris at the ball, but not because she had been having anything resembling a good time before he got there. In fact, circumstances aside this would most likely turn out to be the highlight of her evening. 

A few more minutes of silence passed between them before the music ended and they slowed to a stop. 

"Thank you," she said softly, removing her left hand from his, but not taking her right hand off of his chest quite yet. "For doing this, I mean.Infiltrating the ballroom to inform me of the situation."

"Even if you are not in immediate danger," he said, looking down into her face,"I know better than to think you wouldn't want to be informed of the situation where your sister is involved."

"Still," she said. "It's a risk for you to be here, even costumed."

"Which is why I should be leaving," he said, looking around the room. 

"We'll leave together," she said, looking back to where Simone was standing. "It will be easy to explain that I was swept up by the mysterious stranger, and I need to see Bethany."

"As you wish," he said, taking her elbow and starting to lead her away. 

Hawke sighed and looked at her feet as they walked. What a fantastic disaster this had turned out to be.


	24. The Carta

October and April  
Chapter 24: The Carta

* * *

Fenris led Hawke toward the door of the ballroom by her elbow, trying to draw as little attention as possible while also trying to hurry. 

"This way," Hawke said, tugging him toward the stairs.

"Upstairs?" he asked. "Why?"

"We will be seen if we try to leave through the main entrance. The caller will announce my departure, and I'll draw even more attention if I try to leave through the servant's quarters looking like this. If they think we are..." she cleared her throat, "looking for privacy, they'll leave us alone."

"Looking for..." he trailed off as understanding hit him. He straightened his posture as if it would distract him from the heat rising in his face. "I see." 

"How did you even know where I was?"

"After I left the Gallows, I went looking for you thinking you would be in danger. You were not at home nor were you at the Hanged Man. Isabela informed me that you were here and..." He gestured to his costume, but didn't finish the sentence. 

"Why were you in the Gallows in the first place?" she asked.

"I was visiting your sister," he said, as if that were obvious. He turned to see that she was looking at him with no small amount of surprise, obvious even behind her extravagant mask.

"You went to see Bethany? Why?"

"Is that so strange?"

"You've never gone before, have you?"

"No."

"Then yes, Fenris, it is strange," she said as they walked down the hallway. She went all the way to the end before ducking into one of the bedrooms.

"If you must know," he said, speaking with his normal volume finally since they were alone, "I was seeking advice."

"Advice?" she said with a teasing grin. "From a mage?"

"Not from a mage," he bit off as he tore both the hood and mask off his head. "From your sister. I was hoping _she_ would know how I could get you in the water."

She exhaled and put her mask down on the vanity. "You want me to learn that badly?"

"I want you to not _drown,"_ he corrected tightly. "I may not be there when next you are thrown into deep water."

"That would hardly be anyone's fault but my own," she soothed.

"Damn you, I do not _care_ whose fault it would be, it will matter little when you are _dead."_

She seemed to be taken aback by his words, but eventually she smiled and spoke. "True enough," she admitted with a soft sigh. She reached behind herself and tugged on the skirt of her dress. He heard it start unsnapping, and it was already too late by the time he realized that the skirt of the gown was separate from the corset.

Before he could stop her or ask what she was doing, the skirt was already falling to the ground in a heap. He couldn't help but laugh when she revealed that underneath the large skirt she was wearing her usual tight trousers. 

"I don't know why I'm surprised," he said, crossing his arms. He tilted his head to the side and observed how the heeled shoes she was wearing defined the lines of her legs. 

"Sodding Orlesians and their damned dresses," she scoffed, kicking out of the high heels. "Who has time for all this nonsense? Look at this, she even painted my bloody _nails._ What is the point of this? What purpose does this serve, having my fingernails be the same color as my dress? It's madness. They're all mad, they have to be."

He shook his head as he removed the cloak from around his shoulders and draped it over a nearby chair. "The wealthy take no greater joy than basking in their own frivolity," he said with a shrug. 

"Well, _I_ have to work for a living," she growled. She lifted up the window and looked out over the roof top to judge the climb. As she ducked back inside to remove the ribbon from her hair, Fenris took the opportunity to climb out and check for guards or anyone else who might see them. Fenris inched down to the ledge as Hawke bound her hair back so that the entirety of it was up instead of just half of it.

"I'll assume you wish to go home and change?" he asked as she began to climb out. 

"Obviously," she groaned. "If I look as ridiculous as I feel I—whoa!"

Fenris had never seen her lose her footing, not on her own, anyway. Yet her feet shot out from under her and if he hadn't already been farther down the rooftop, she might have slipped right off it. He managed to get into a crouch in time to snatch her bicep in his hand and stop her mid-slide.

"Now, what?" he asked, knowing his impatience read on his face. 

"I'd forgotten about these," she said, raising one of her feet and wiggling her toes, revealing the stockings she still had on under the trousers. "I had to wear them to get my feet in those horrid shoes. I have none of my usual flawless traction."

"It appears we are both severely out of our element tonight," he said with a sigh. "Stay here, I will jump down to the next ledge and catch you."

"That isn't necessary."

"Do not argue with me," he snapped. "I have had enough nonsense for one evening. I wish to go home. The quickest way off this roof is you allowing me to catch you, so just shut up and let me do it." 

He had already turned to start climbing down so he didn't see her face, though he imagined it was one of indignant resignation. Once he climbed down to the next ledge, he turned around and waved a hand toward himself. 

"Come on." 

"I feel like a fool," she said under her breath. 

"You are a fool. Jump."

She did as he demanded and he lowered his stance and dug in his heels, hooking his foot along the edge of one of the tiles to keep it in place as he caught Hawke's weight.

"Tell no one of this," she growled in his arms as he carried her toward the next ledge.

"As if you are the only one who wishes this night burned from their memory."

* * *

Since she couldn't be seen in her half formal half stealth getup she had on, Fenris helped her from rooftop to rooftop until she was home. He was grateful when his disgruntled offer to accompany her to check on Bethany was refused. He would have done it if she'd wanted him to, but he wanted to go home. His night had not gone anything like he'd planned, and he was entirely fed up with the Hawkes and Rivainis and dwarves and all of the _insanity_ that seemed to follow.

He pulled off his clothes and threw himself into bed, not even bothering to start a fire. He didn't know why he was so angry. Perhaps angry wasn't the proper emotion; frustrated was more like it. Irritated was better still. It served him right, he supposed. This was what concern for others earned him; madness. All he'd wanted to do was find a way to get Hawke to learn how to swim, yet he spent the entire night killing dwarves and playing along with Isabela's inane scheme. 

He didn't even recognize himself anymore. Three years ago he would _never_ have gone to seek the council of a mage, no matter whose sister she happened to be, and he _certainly_ would not have dressed up to hide amongst the nobles, no matter who would be in danger if he didn't. He would not have played along with Hawke's ruse to scare off Carver's creditor, or venture to help an abomination from going mad. 

Fenris pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and clenched his jaw tight. This was all the rogue's fault, obviously. Her foolish kindnesses and naive world view were like poison in his blood now. He could literally _feel_ her influence on him, like a weight in his chest that never quite went away. Now, instead of the Fog Warriors and their gruesome death, he was haunted by the thought of Hawke in the ocean, thrashing wildly in the water, alone and afraid and slowly sinking to the ocean floor, wishing for help that wasn't coming.

He sneered an angry sound through his teeth as he rolled onto his stomach and buried his head under his arms. It was insufferable; this concern was such a burden. How did Hawke do it? How did she, who considered all of her comrades as charges for which she was personally responsible, deal with the giant encumbrance that caring for so many undoubtedly brought her? Fenris, on some level, cared about all of their party, but the only one he truly considered his friend was Hawke and her alone. Hawke considered them _all_ friends. How was it that she could breeze through her life as if there was not always the tremendous weight of responsibility on her shoulders? Fenris could not even seem to process _one_ such relationship, how did she juggle so many? Her friends, her family, those she employed at the mansion, it was _endless._

And on top of it all, she still managed to juggle the social functions needed to maintain her status as a noble while concealing her second life as the Hawk. It had to be exhausting, and Fenris found a begrudging new respect for her welling up in him. She was much stronger than him, he realized. Perhaps she could not swing a halberd with the same ease that he could, but Fenris would crumble under the tremendous weight of the responsibilities she put on herself. 

Fenris tossed and turned again, fisting into his hair and staring up at the ceiling. The sight of Hawke's searing golden eyes burned vividly in the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and that was all he saw; the feathers of her mask falling way to reveal the striking lines of her face and her sharp eyes, blazing like embers as she turned to look at him. The mighty Hawk, who killed so efficiently and so silently, a shadow with eyes of fire. 

Fenris groaned and ran his hands down his face. He was starting to sound like Varric.

* * *

Four days passed without incident. Varric worked harder than Fenris had ever seen him, scouring his contacts at night and using the daylight hours to comb through what information he had. Hawke checked on Bethany every day twice a day, once during the day as Anara Amell, and a second time in the dead of night, sneaking in to double check. Fenris spent most of his time at the Hanged Man in an attempt to stay abreast of the situation, bringing his latest book and pretending to read it while he listened to Varric talk to himself, or Isabela, or anyone who would listen. 

It was well into the evening as Fenris reclined by the fire, watching Varric and Merrill out of the corner of his eye. 

"I don't understand," Varric groaned. "If my contacts are to be believed — and they usually are — this compound should be right there." He marked a spot on the map.

"Why is that hard to understand?" Merrill asked, standing beside him and watching his hands. 

"Because according to my sources there's not even supposed to _be_ a 'there'."

"Well," she said with a shrug. "Everywhere is somewhere. I mean... right?"

Varric rubbed his eyes and shook his head. 

There was a loud crash from the main room that made all three of them turn toward the door to see what had happened. 

"Who's that?" Merrill asked. "Oh! Isn't that Hawke's dwarf friend?"

" _I'm_ Hawke's dwarf friend," Varric said, a tad bit defensively. 

"Messeres!" Bodhan cried as he burst into the room with Sandal on his heels. Hands on his knees and panting, he tried to form words. "Dwarves," he managed to get out. 

"Enchantment!" Sandal cheered, obviously not as affected by the run as his father. 

"The mansion," Bodhan panted. "Under attack." 

"Son of a bitch," Varric sneered.

Fenris dropped his book and snatched his sword from the wall. He charged out of the pub, knowing Merrill was hot on his heels. 

"What about Bethany?" Merrill asked as they ran. 

"It's unlikely that they will try to take both of them at once," Fenris explained. "We _know_ Hawke is under attack, she has to be our priority."

When they finally made it to the Amell estate, the sounds of battle were clear. Fenris tried the door, but it was barred shut. Fenris threw his shoulder into it, but it hardly budged. 

"Move!" Merrill demanded. "Please," she added quickly. She waved her arms and slammed her foot into the pavement, conjuring a boulder in the shape of a fist out of thin air.

Fenris stepped out of the way as Merrill threw the huge rock through the front door, and it splintered and fell away under the force. Fenris charged into the room just in time to see the few dwarves that had been trapped under the boulder wriggling free. The rest of them were trying to climb up the left wall of the entrance hall to no avail. 

Varric arrived just as Merrill and Fenris began culling the first wave of intruders. There were only eight in the front room, but Fenris could hear that there were more, much more, behind the door to the drawing room. 

"Why were they trying to climb the wall?" Merrill asked.

"Looks like the elf was right," Varric said. "They must be mad. We're not climbers." 

Fenris killed the last dwarf that was still trapped under Merrill's boulder before going for the drawing room door, which was also locked. He slammed his fist into it. 

_"Hawke!"_ Fenris shouted. 

"There isn't enough shouting in my house, now you're going to add to it?" 

Fenris whirled around and saw Hawke leaning on her elbows over the banister of the balcony that overlooked the entryway. She smiled at him, and he gave her a stern glare that he hoped didn't reveal how relieved he was to see her safe. 

"Did you know there was a balcony there?" Varric asked, scratching his jaw and looking up at it. 

"I had no idea," Merrill said, tilting her head to the side. "Hawke, how did you get up there?"

"This balcony is attached to the second floor of the library, Merrill," Hawke said. "And I'm so glad you could join the assault on house Amell by obliterating my door."

"That's not funny," Leandra said, coming to the railing. "There are droves of dwarves in our sitting room who are, even now, trying to break in here and _kill_ us."

"Not us. They need _me_ alive, after all."

"Honestly, Anara, what are we going to do?"

"Well, mother, I thought we'd try offering them tea. Kill them with kindness."

"Is everything a joke to you?" Leandra asked. 

"Only things I find funny," she retorted before looking back at her comrades. "We've managed to barricade ourselves in."

"Why haven't you killed them all?" Varric asked.

"You haven't seen how many there are," Hawke said with a sigh. "I had to protect mother or—"

She was interrupted by a loud crash that signaled the door being destroyed and their barricade being compromised. Hawke instantly put an arm out protectively in front of her mother as she looked down onto the lower level to see what was happening, and Fenris could hear the splintering of wood from where he was standing.

She didn't say anything, she just turned her head and made eye contact with him, and he nodded at her. Fenris was perfectly aware of what she was asking of him, and he didn't hesitate to leap into action. He sprinted toward the wall and launched himself off of the small bench sitting against it. Hawke leaned over the railing and caught his wrists in both of her hands. He used his hold on her arms to keep him up as he pushed his feet against the wall and lurched up over the railing with her. 

"Mother," Hawke said, turning to her. "We're going to lower you to the ground and Varric is going to take you to safety."

"But..."

"Don't argue with me, Mother. Please, we don't have much time."

Fenris and Hawke each took one of her arms and lowered her down to where Merrill and Varric could reach her, then turned back toward where the dwarves were slowly making progress on chopping through the furniture barricading the door. Hawke removed the daggers from her back and turned to Fenris with a playful smile. He leveled his eyes at her as he took his sword off his back. 

"Oh, don't brood at me," she teased. "I'm starting to think you like it because you keep coming to help me."

Fenris rolled his eyes, but he felt the smile tug at the corner of his lips. "Remind me of this conversation when next you are hopelessly outnumbered."

* * *

Once house Amell had been cleared of the Carta, Hawke sent Merrill to find Varric and her mother while she and Fenris ran straight to the Gallows. It was unlikely that they had launched an attack on both Hawke and Bethany at the same time, but she had to be sure. Fenris waited in the courtyard with his arms crossed, leaning back against a pillar. He didn't quite hear Hawke approaching him; he just knew, in that way he always did. 

"She is safe then?" he asked the darkness. 

"Yes," Hawke said softly as she climbed down from the ledge. "Thank you for coming with me."

"Of course," he said, turning to follow her back toward Hightown.

"This has been a nightmare," she said with a sigh. "I wish Varric would figure out where these damned dwarves are coming from."

"What good would that do?" he asked as he walked beside her. "Do you intend to stride up to their front door and demand answers?"

"Something like that," she said. "I know it's not the same thing by any stretch, but I think I'm starting to realize just how you feel about Danarius."

"How do you mean?"

"You told me once that you would not live with a wolf at your back," she explained. "It's exhausting just... waiting around for the next round of dwarves to pounce. At least those foolish enough to come after you have made their intentions clear. I don't even know what the Carta wants from me. I have crossed paths with them rarely before this, and only ever as the Hawk." She sighed. "I don't know what is more unsettling: the attacks themselves, or not knowing what they want or how much they know about me."

Fenris was silent as he walked beside her, observing the tension in her posture and the way she was flexing and relaxing her hands. She was obviously anxious for this all to be over. He could certainly relate. 

"I have not been worried about Danarius for months," Fenris said, looking up at the sky. "I had not realized how long it has been since last I glanced over my shoulder while walking home."

That seemed to please Hawke, because even behind her mask he could see that she grinned in the shifting of her cheeks and the crinkling of her eyes. She cleared her throat and glanced at him before looking at the sky. 

"I suppose that's a good thing, right?" she asked. "That you feel safe here?"

"I don't think I will ever feel safe while living in the same city as you," he teased, glancing at her with a small smile. "But I suppose I have let my guard down considerably."

"Does that worry you?" she asked, meeting his gaze. "Do you think you'll be unprepared if Danarius comes for you?"

"It is not a matter of 'if' but of 'when'," he corrected. "So long as we manage not to let the Carta bleed you for their undoubtedly nefarious purposes, I think whenever Danarius chooses to make himself known, we will be able to handle him."

She grinned at him again.

"What?" he asked. 

"I like that you think of it as 'we' instead of 'you' now."

That gave Fenris pause. He hadn't even meant to say it that way, but now that he was considering it he realized it was completely true. In the middle of the night, when Danarius would work his way back into his thoughts, somewhere he knew Hawke would be there with him. Somehow it wasn't such a terrible thought to him anymore. He would take his freedom someday, and Hawke would help him. There was just no other way he saw it happening.

"I like it, too," he admitted, returning his eyes to their route. 

"You know," she said, following his gaze, "we obviously had our differences in the beginning..."

"An understatement of the highest order," Fenris added.

She nodded and laughed. "True enough... but regardless of all that, you've always understood me. I think about it every now and again."

Fenris looked at her with no small amount of confusion. "You cannot be serious," he said. "I understood nothing of you in the beginning."

"Come, Fenris, surely you remember all of our frustrating conversations we had over Anders and chess."

"Funny, 'conversation' implies both parties are speaking," he teased.

"But that's exactly my point," she said with a shrug. "Bethany and Varric knew me well beforehand, so they could always tell what I was intending to say. You knew nothing of me, and still you could read the tilt of my head or the motions of my hands. Like you could read my intentions from my eyes alone. Even now you and I can communicate without speaking. I merely looked at you tonight and you knew I wanted to pull you up onto that balcony to help me defend my home."

"Perhaps it is merely the skill of a slave to anticipate needs," he said with a shrug, swallowing down how the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

"Nonsense," she said with a wave of her hand. "Fenris, you're smart and perceptive. You say little, but what you do say _needs_ to be said. Your time as a slave may have honed your fighting skills and your ability to read a battlefield, but you never would have been able to learn those skills if you had not already been smart."

"You seem to be making a habit of complimenting me of late," he said after a long silence. 

"I have? Hm, I suppose I have," she said with a small laugh before arching an eyebrow at him. "Are you complaining?"

"Er— no. I simply... I do not always know how to respond." 

"You could try saying 'thank you'," she teased. "Or, better yet, you could try issuing one of your own sometime, Mr. I've-never-intentionally-paid-you-a-compliment." 

Fenris laughed and nodded. "Perhaps I shall practice my flattery. It is not something I am familiar with."

"Go on, give it a try. I'll wait."

"Right now?"

"How will you get better at it if you don't practice?"

He swallowed. "I uh... what would you like to be complimented on?"

"That's cheating," she complained. "Just off the top of your head. What is your favorite thing about me?"

"Your eyes," he said without hesitation.

Her head snapped to look up at him and he wondered if he'd done it wrong. "Really?" she asked.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Why?"

He shrugged. How could he explain? He didn't even know himself. "They are... unique," he said, meeting her gaze as they walked. "Just like the rest of you."

He saw her smile widely behind her mask, but she said nothing.

"Am I doing it right?" he asked, unable to fight his own smile.

"Well, you're certainly not doing it _wrong,"_ she teased. "A little practice won't kill you, though." She hooked her hands onto the wall of her mansion and pulled herself up onto one of the ledges in the shadows. "Goodnight, Fenris," she said softly, knowing he could hear her.

"Goodnight, Hawke." 

He watched her disappear into the shadows and then reappear in the light of her balcony. He made his way back to his mansion, hoping they would resolve this issue with the Carta sooner rather than later. He did not like to see Hawke looking over her shoulder as Fenris always used to, and he knew well that there was no way he would be getting her into the water before the conclusion.


	25. The Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Authors Note: Final scene of this chapter is something I had planned out since the very inception of the story so I'm excited to finally see it realized and can't wait to hear what y'all think about it. Thanks for all the comments last week. I was super busy and didn't get to reply but I read every single one and love you all very much!**
> 
> **As a warning, I might not get a chapter up next week because of life stuff, but I'll try. Thank you for your understanding! This chapter is nice and long to make up for it! ^_^**
> 
> **Lovelovelove**
> 
> **Roarkshop**

It was another week before Varric finally managed to map out their route. None of them were happy to be going back to the Deep Roads, but Hawke was determined to get answers. She was relieved that Varric had managed to convince Cullen to let Bethany go with them. After all, so long as Bethany wasn't in the Gallows, the attacks would stop. Hawke had made the mistake of not bringing Bethany along with them once; it wasn't a mistake she was going to make again. 

It wasn't yet dawn when Hawke sat in Fenris' window, crouched on the balls of her feet and contemplating her next move. She was in her usual leather garb, sitting in silence as she looked at the shirtless elf sleeping across the room. She was loathe to rouse him, though she knew it was only a matter of time before he woke up; he always had the uncanny ability to know when she was nearby. Maybe it was his sharp hearing, maybe it was something honed in him from his time as a slave.

She had considered bringing Aveline to the Vimmark Mountains, but they promised to be gone at least a few days and — while Hawke was certain Aveline would spare the time for her — she didn't want to put her in a position where she had to choose friends over her duties as captain.

But she _couldn't_ trouble Fenris again, could she? She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit she preferred his sword to Aveline's. There was no denying that Hawke and Fenris fought well together. They could anticipate each other's movements and communicate without words, but there was more to it. There was no doubt in her mind that she could count on him. It had been a long time since she truly felt she could lean on someone, and Fenris made her feel safe. No one had managed that since her father died.

Hawke didn't make a sound as she approached his bedside, wondering if he knew just how much he had come to mean to her.

She pulled down her hood and mask as she stared down at him. He was laying on his back, one hand above his head the other on his stomach. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, his markings shifting with the small movement. He was like a work of art, vibrant and full of life.

Maker, he was beautiful.

"Hawke?" he asked, obviously sensing her presence before his eyes even fully opened. He blinked up at her, bleary eyed as he stretched his arm out above his head. "What time is it?" he groaned. 

"Barely dawn," she said gently as she tucked her hair behind her ear. 

"What's happening?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows to look up at her. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said with a smile. "Varric thinks he's located the compound sending the Carta after us. He and Bethany are packing for the journey, we didn't want to waste anymore time."

"You're leaving?" he asked. He turned his head to look out his window, noting the first vestiges of sunlight creeping into the night sky before turning back to her. "Now? For how long?"

"It promises to be a few days, at least." 

_Come with me._ The words were right there but she couldn't bring herself to say them. He had done so much for her lately, whether he knew it or not, and she feared becoming trouble he no longer had the patience for. She was well aware that his inexperience with friendships meant that it was a tiresome exercise for him. She thought about how exasperated and irritated he'd been the night he pulled her from the surf, asking her if friendship was always exhausting and intolerable. She couldn't keep troubling him like this, it wasn't fair. So the words died on her tongue.

"I just thought I should let you know," she lied instead. "I didn't want you to learn about our absence and not know where we'd gone."

He tilted his head to the side as he stared up into her face, his brow furrowing and his lips parting slightly as if he were confused. After a few moments of charged silence, he swallowed and shook his head. 

"You're not going without me," he said, but his inflection made it sound like it was a question. 

"I didn't think—" 

"No," he said, more resolutely now, leaning up onto his hands until their faces were only a few inches apart. "Hawke, we are in this together."

"Fenris," she said softly, swallowing down how the nerves in her stomach coiled tightly. She stepped back from the bed before she did something stupid. "You've done enough. You saved both Bethany and my home, you traipsed through a ballroom to warn me; you've been troubled enough by my nonsense."

"True," he said, turning to put his legs over the side of his bed and stand. He rolled his shoulders back and a series of cracks echoed down his spine. Then he reached for his tunic where it was draped over the back of a chair. He slid it over his shoulders and started to button it closed. 

"Fenris, you don't have to do this," she said, putting forth great effort to keep her eyes off the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. 

"I'm well aware of that," he said, turning to level his hard eyes at her. "Is there some reason you don't want me accompanying you?"

"Besides the fact that you've been inconvenienced by this more than any of us?"

"Yes, besides that. If you do not want me to go along, you need only say so."

"Honestly, it would be great relief if you come along, but—"

"Then it is done," he said. 

"You don't even know where we're going yet."

"Does it matter? I have been involved since the beginning and I intend to see it through to the end."

"Right, but—"

"You have never hesitated to bring me along in the past," he interrupted as he slid into his chest piece. "Why are you trying to leave me behind?"

That was a very, very good question. They both knew she wanted him to go, and they both knew that she needed his added strength. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as she tried to think of a lie. When one didn't come, she defaulted on the truth. 

"I don't want to be a burden to you."

"Oh?" he said, the beginnings of a smile tugging on his lips. "Much too late for that."

She couldn't help but laugh and nod her agreement. "I can see you're immovable on the subject."

"So I am," he said as he bent to remove his sword from under his bed. 

"Very well," she sighed. She cleared her throat and swallowed down the grin that threatened her face. "If you're sure you don't mind the trouble."

He strapped the weapon to his back and closed the distance between them. "If you didn't want to be a burden, you should have left me alone four years ago after the Deep Roads." A slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes sparkled with humor. "I'm afraid you're quite stuck with me now."

She blushed, she could feel it, so in an attempt to hide it from his sharp eyes she turned away and made for the door.

"I suppose I shall just have to make due," she teased over her shoulder, pulling up her mask to hide her grin as she heard him follow her down the stairs.

* * *

It was less than a day's climb into the Vimmark Mountains and their party seemed a good deal merrier with the addition of Bethany. Hawke was obviously pleased to have her nearby and safe, and Varric was all too happy to regale the mage with tales of the adventures she'd missed. Fenris was glad for her presence if for no other reason than it meant that they didn't need the abomination, but he had to admit that he was glad to see the anxious tension finally leaving Hawke's shoulders. He didn't know if it was Bethany's presence or the fact that they were finally going to end the nonsense with the Carta; but either way she was back to her old self, and the realization made Fenris relax considerably. 

He spared a moment to find it odd that his moods had become so interconnected to hers.

They entered the compound with the first light of the following day and quickly found out it would not be a peaceful end to whatever it was the dwarves wanted with them. Every dwarf that spoke gave them clues that were cryptic and vague, and with the mention of Malcolm Hawke, the sisters were twice as eager to figure out why the dwarves were after them.

Their mission was a grave one, and the further and further into the mountain they fought, the less lighthearted the party became. The downward spiral started when they were forced to kill Gerav — the dwarf that had crafted Varric's beloved Bianca — and seemed to keep plummeting with every new discovery. 

They happened upon a shade locked behind a prison of magic, and Bethany was the one to realize that the odd markings on the walls would release it.

"Do you think this wise?" Fenris asked as he watched Hawke eye the markings. He did not like the 'key' she had been handling. It was shaped like a sword and was obviously imbued with some kind of magic, but the crazed dwarves had said it was a key that would lead them to whoever Corypheus was, so Hawke had been wielding it as a weapon.

"Worst case scenario, it's just one more thing to kill," Varric said, removing Bianca from his back. 

"If that's all it is, we can ignore any we find in the future," Bethany said with a shrug. "Better to be thorough."

Once the magical shield dropped, the shade within attacked them, summoning a series of rage demons to assist it. They quelled them efficiently enough, and Fenris was about to deliver a scathing 'I told you so' when a cloud of blue smoke, about six feet tall, formed near the cage. A pair of bright, golden eyes peered out from within the shapeless form, and a voice as deep as thunder and smooth as silk echoed from within. 

**"I could do nothing about the Warden's use of demons in this horrid place, but I will have no one say any magic of _mine_ ever released one into the world."**

Fenris only watched the figure for a moment before his gaze fell on Hawke. Her entire body snapped taut and tense, her eyes were wide and her eyebrows upturned as if she were in pain. Her attention was rapt on the blue smoke as it seemed to walk through the room. 

"That... that voice," Bethany said softly, one hand in front of her mouth. Her eyes shot to Hawke, her eyes asking the question she could not voice. 

Hawke said nothing; she just stared at the spot where the smoke had dissipated. Her hands were fists, and she was squeezing them together so hard Fenris could hear the leather of her gloves groaning under the pressure. It seemed like an eternity of silence passed. The party watched Hawke, and Hawke watched a distant horizon that only she could see. The silence was stifling, amplifying even the most distant sounds. 

When Hawke finally moved, she looked down at her feet and swallowed an audible breath before turning to her comrades. 

"We should keep moving," she said, her tone unnerving in its calm. 

Not even Varric said another word. 

As they continued through the oppressive dungeon, Fenris kept his senses trained on Hawke. Where her movements were usually fluid and graceful, they were now jarring, almost mechanical. 

Her heart wasn't in them, he realized. She was far away, back with the golden eyes within the smoke. Even when they met the tainted — arguably insane — Grey Warden, her attention was elsewhere. Fenris had never seen her this way; It made the nerves of his stomach bunch up and his shoulders tense to the point of pain, but he didn't dare ask about it. Whatever happened in that room, it had obviously been a very different experience for her than it had been for the rest of them, and Fenris was not in the habit of asking her about things as intensely personal as whatever was going on in her head in those moments.

When they reached the next magical prison, Hawke stared down at the key in her hand, obviously debating whether or not to open it. 

"Hawke?" Varric tested cautiously.

"I have to know," she said softly, going to unlock the mark on the wall. 

Again the demons were handled quickly, and again the form of blue smoke appeared and seemed to walk around the room. Hawke watched the smoke as it moved past her, raising one hand as if she were going to reach out and touch it. With her mask and hood already down, Fenris saw the unusual look of hope mixed with desperation on her face in the setting of her jaw and the knitting of her brows. It made him feel like he'd been kicked by a horse. 

**"I may have left the Circle, but I took a vow. My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base."**

"It _is_ him," Hawke said softly, barely above a whisper.

"That which is best in me," Bethany repeated. "Not that which is most base. That... that's exactly what he used to teach me."

"I remember," Hawke said stiffly. 

"Alright," Varric interrupted. "This is all very cryptic and mysterious but does someone want to inform the dwarf as to what the hell is going on?"

"It's our father," Bethany said, her voice shaking slightly. "These... these must be his memories... locked here from when he imprisoned these demons."

Hawke's fists shivered at her sides, and her face was drawn into hard, tense lines. "No," Hawke sneered. "He wouldn't..."

"'Nara, what's wrong?" Bethany asked, reaching for her sister. Her fingers barely managed to touch Hawke's shoulder before the rogue whirled around on her. 

"Don't you get it?" she sneered. "'The Hawke's blood', 'the blood of the Hawke', the prisons, the spells. Open your eyes!" 

Bethany recoiled like she'd been burned. "I... I don't understand."

"They need our blood, Bethany. The blood of Malcolm Hawke. Why? Why else would they need his blood?"

Understanding hit Fenris, and suddenly Hawke's anger fell into place. "They need to negate his work," he said. 

Hawke motioned her hand toward him to acknowledge his understanding. "They need our blood, Bethany, because whatever Father did here, he used _his_ blood."

"Oh, shit," Varric said in realization.

Bethany swallowed and shook her head. "No," she said softly. "Blood magic? But... he wouldn't... he would _never..."_

"If you have another conclusion, I'd love to hear it," Hawke growled. "The pieces fit."

"Father was _not_ a blood mage!" 

"I don't want to believe it any more than you do, Beth, but it's the truth. It has to be. Nothing else makes sense."

It was obvious to Fenris that Hawke was not angry at her sister, but at the memory of her father. Fenris had known of Bethany and Hawke's hatred of blood magic since the beginning of their association, but it wasn't until that moment, as he looked at the sisters staring at each other with matching looks of betrayal, that he realized that the hatred had been learned from their father. 

Hawke tore her eyes off Bethany and turned to stalk further into the labyrinth. 

"We are wasting time," she said, the sound of her voice weak, defeated. It was not a sound Fenris was used to hearing from her, and he decided that he hated it.

* * *

It wasn't long before Fenris regretted his insistence on being brought along. The third and final memory of Malcolm Hawke did nothing to brighten the mood of his daughters. Bethany was made to believe he resented her for her magic, which was an obvious blow to the mage's confidence. Hawke had come to a realization that put a similar dampening on her spirit, but she did not voice it as Bethany did, instead she focused on making her sister feel better, putting her fears to rest as best she could. 

Whatever it was that Malcolm Hawke's memory did to Hawke, it wasn't good. The anger was gone, but with it went her enthusiasm. Her weight against Fenris' back was heavy. She had none of her usual energy or lightness of foot. She was still fast, much faster than any of the darkspawn or tainted dwarves were ready to handle, but Fenris knew her far too well. To him she might as well have been standing still.

Upon being confronted by Janeka and her Wardens (who were under the impression that the demon Corypheus could be freed and then used for their purposes), Hawke made the decision to throw in her alliance with Larius, thereby upholding her father's decision that Corypheus was too dangers to be free. When Bethany questioned her decision considering how angry they were, Hawke simply stated that the cause must have been dire if Malcolm had resorted to using blood magic. Fenris had agreed with her choice, but silently questioned her logic. Fenris hadn't known the man, but he doubted the righteousness of any mage that resorted to blood magic. 

It wasn't until they found out that Larius had threatened Hawke's pregnant mother to gain Malcolm's cooperation that Fenris found his actions justified. There was no way to be certain as to what would have happened to Leandra if Malcolm Hawke hadn't agreed to aid the Warden, but Fenris agreed that the possibility of her death and the result of Hawke never being born was an unacceptable sacrifice. 

Killing Corypheus was not easy, or enjoyable. It was a test of both strength and endurance that left the entire party drained and bone-weary. Yet as Fenris arrived back to his mansion under the cover of darkness, he found himself unable to sleep.

Fenris tossed and turned, unable to rid his thoughts of Hawke's haunted expression, playing in a continuous loop in his mind. They had not walked to Hightown together as they usually did, since Hawke escorted Bethany back to the Circle, and he hadn't the opportunity to ask her about Malcolm.

He hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know why the memories of her father had troubled her so. He wanted to banish the ghosts from her eyes. She was his friend, and she was not herself. If friends could not aid one another in times of uncertainty and suffering, then what was the point of it? She had done as much for him when she had happened upon him on the anniversary of his escape, and he hadn't spent it alone since. She hadn't let him.

Fenris knew that considering the emotional and physical fatigue Hawke had undoubtedly experienced, she was more than likely asleep. It was well after midnight and it seemed silly to wake her in an attempt to get her to talk to him. It was a distinct possibility that he was driving himself to madness for nothing and Hawke was not even troubled any longer.

But what if she was?

Fenris growled and rose to his feet, pulling a short sleeved tunic over his head. Storming through the mansion and into the next room, making his way onto the balcony from which he often watched the goings-on of Hightown. It was from this balcony that he had always spotted Hawke at the miscellaneous social gatherings she was forced to attend as her alter ego, and tonight it was the spot from which he found her sitting on her roof, staring up at the stars.

Fenris was so surprised to see her across the square that he thought he might have been hallucinating. How was she still awake? And why was she on her roof? He leaned on the railing of his balcony with his hands as he contemplated how he should get her attention. The square was completely abandoned beneath them, but he couldn't very well shout and rouse all of Hightown. 

He put his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and let forth a quick, sharp whistle that pierced the silence of the night. 

Hawke's attention immediately snapped in his direction, and even from the distance he was, he could see the smile break onto her face when she saw him on his balcony. He made a movement with his hand that he hoped translated to 'what the hell are you doing?' but her eyesight was not as sharp as his. She held her arms out and shook her head, obviously unable to understand his meaning.

While he was deciding whether or not to walk over to her mansion, she made the decision for him. He laughed softly as she jumped up onto the Hightown wall, then ran and leapt across the distance to the wall across the way. He watched her walk along the top of the wall with practiced ease, climbing from roof to roof and over the archways until she disappeared over his roof. He leaned back against the railing of his balcony, holding himself up on his elbows as he looked up and waited. He knew she was coming, yet he didn't even hear her creep down the tiles. Finally her fingers gripped the ledge of his roof, followed by her face appearing over the edge. She smiled down at him, her straight black hair falling down the sides and framing her face.

He found himself smiling in return. 

"What are you still doing awake?" she asked him. 

"I was about to ask you the same question," he said, arching an eyebrow. "One would think you'd be exhausted."

"I am," she sighed, "but my thoughts are a jumble."

"Do you sit on your roof often?"

"More often than most," she said with a smile. "But yes, I rather like being able to see the stars. It helps me think."

Fenris recalled all the times she would raise her eyes to the stars as if searching them for answers. "I see," was all he said in reply. 

"What about you? Still buzzing from the thrill of the fight?"

He smiled as he looked up into her face, noting how the playfulness had returned to her eyes. "Something like that," he said. "You said you were troubled?"

"I said my thoughts were a jumble."

"What is the difference?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it before crossing her arms under her chin and resting her head on them. "There isn't one," she admitted. 

He crossed his arms and shifted against the railing, not liking the distance in her expression. "I am willing to listen," he said softly.

She moved her eyes back to his face. "You are, are you?"

He shrugged. "I find it to be a slightly less annoying option than lying in my bed and not sleeping." 

She laughed and tucked her hair behind one of her ears. "Hoping I will bore you to sleep, then?" 

"Worth a try," he said as he stepped up onto the thin railing of his balcony, gripping the ledge of his roof and hoisting himself up. She moved further up to sit on the peak of his roof, stretching her legs out in front of her. 

"I'll assume your jumbled thoughts have to do with your father," he said as he made his way to sit beside her, leaning back on his hands.

"A regular detective, you are," she teased, looking up at the sky.

"It must have been... jarring to hear his voice again after all this time."

She exhaled and nodded. "That is a good word for it. I never thought I'd hear it again." She laughed softly. "He could command a room without even raising his voice. It could strike fear into a bandit's heart or rock his children to sleep."

"You miss him."

"Every day." She swallowed and looked down at her gloved hands. "I told you once that I'm named after a mage."

"I remember," he said softly, curious as to where the line of conversation was going. Even if it had no particular course, he would do his best to follow it. "A mage from the Imperium."

"Yes," she confirmed. "My father, he... Where my siblings and I all had his dark hair, Carver and Bethany both got my mother's blue eyes. I was the only one to inherit my father's unusual ones." She let out a small, wistful laugh as she recalled the memory. "He was so sharp featured and angular that he really did look like a bird of prey. I wasn't the first to be deemed 'the Hawk'. He earned the namesake long before I did."

Fenris said nothing, but he noticed how she started to pick at the threads of her gloves. He imagined that if she had a dagger with her, she would be flipping it end to end that way she did. 

"My mother always said..." she swallowed and looked back at the sky. "She always told me that my father took one look at my eyes and he just... knew that I was going to have magic. They're such an unusual color; he thought that it was a sure sign that I would be a mage like him." She looked down and laughed again, but it was a sad sound. "He said that he would not wish magic on his children, but even as young as I was, I remember the look on his face when Bethany first showed signs of magic. I remember the hours and hours every day they spent training together. She was the daughter he'd always wanted." She swallowed again and spoke even more softly. "And I couldn't even swim." 

"You think that your father favored Bethany over you and Carver," he said carefully. He was in no position to tell her she was wrong, regardless that he was sure it was what she wanted to hear, but he wasn't going to lie to her. 

"I know he loved all of us," she defended. "I mean... he was always proud of us, always very supportive, but he did not train Carver and I like he did Beth. I showed signs of light feet very early and he helped me hone that speed, but there was just... they had a very special bond, Bethany and my father. I know she often says being a mage is a curse and that she regrets the inconveniences it caused to our family, but..." Hawke's gaze returned to the sky and he watched the movement of her throat as she tried to swallow down whatever emotion was welling up in her. "When I was young, I would have given anything to have even a piece of my father's magic, just so he would look at me the way I would catch him watching Bethany while she was practicing."

There was a beat of silence as Fenris considered her words. "If she was practicing, is it safe to say that she never saw him looking at her this way you speak of?"

She turned to him, her brows knitting in confusion. "Yes," she said cautiously. "It was the way he looked at her when he thought no one was looking. That's what made it so... tender."

"Then how do you know he didn't look at you that way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps, just like Bethany, you were not looking when he did."

She laughed and nodded, returning her gaze to her hands that were still picking at each other. "Perhaps you're right," she said, but it was obvious she didn't believe it. 

Fenris lifted up off his hands and sat forward, bending his knee on the ridge of the roof so he could turn to face her. "Give me your hands," he said, holding out his hands expectantly. 

She looked at him, then looked at his hands, then back at his face. "Why?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Humor me."

She hesitated, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth before pushing her hair behind her ear. She shifted so that she was matching his posture and facing him before putting her hands into his. Once he was holding her hands, he tugged on the fingers of her gloves and slid them off her hands, dropping them onto the tiles between them.

He took her hands again, and the lyrium in his skin came alight under her touch. He turned his hands over so that hers rested on his knuckles, then let her fingers tips trail down the lines of his fingers, letting her watch how her touch left a pale blue glow in its wake.

"The first time your skin touched mine," he began gently, "you were digging an arrowhead out of my shoulder. You asked me if my markings lit up when just anyone touched me and I said no, but I did not explain why." He turned his hands over again, feeling how her fingers traced over his palm and watching as the glow illuminated her face. "Lyrium reacts to magic, Hawke."

He watched how she froze, her gaze snapping up to meet his as realization dawned in her eyes. 

"You may not have magic in the same way that your sister does," he said, "but you are touched by your father's magic. It lives on in you whether or not you are a mage." 

She looked back down at her hands and started to lightly trace the patterns of his markings with her fingertips, following them up his forearms. She inched closer to him and put both of her hands on his left arm. He turned, propping the arm up on his knee to allow her hands to wander along his skin freely.

Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as she etched his markings with the tips of her fingers, following them up his arm, her attention rapt on the blue glow she was creating. When he raised his attention back to her face, he saw her eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. In a moment of panic he wondered if he'd made a mistake in revealing it to her. 

To his great relief, she laughed; one of those genuine laughs that lit up her face even as a tear escaped the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek. She quickly reached up to wipe the tear away, but it was obvious to him that she did not have her usual vice like grip on her emotions. He made no comment about it.

They sat there in companionable silence for a long time, and he watched as she continued to chart his tattoos with her fingers. He turned his hand palm up as she followed the markings down his wrist and across his palm, all the way to his fingertips and back down. He rolled his arm this way and that as he allowed her to continue unimpeded by the position of his arm. When she reached the line of his tunic on his shoulder, she lifted her hand toward his face, and he laughed, moving his head to the side to allow her room to trace along the branches of the tattoo under his ear and down the side of his throat.

"This is amazing," she said breathlessly. 

"If you say so," he said as he turned his head to meet her gaze again. 

"I'm sorry." She swallowed and pulled her hands away. "I know this is probably uncomfortable for you."

"It's not, actually."

"But you said it hurts when they light up." 

"Usually, yes," he said. "That does not seem to be the case where you are concerned, however. Perhaps I have grown accustomed to you, or perhaps I am simply no longer uncomfortable with your touch as I am with others."

She grinned, and he found his expression dropped slightly at the sight of the unabashed joy in her face. He had always thought Hawke was beautiful, but the word did no justice to how she looked when she was smiling. He swallowed when she looked down and continued tracing his markings with her fingertips. Her touch suddenly seemed much warmer on his skin than it had just moments before. 

"Thank you for this," she said. "It... you really don't know what it means to me, to have proof that he is still very much a part of me."

"You are your father's daughter, Hawke," he said softly. "I think it is safe to say that he saw his magic in you when he learned of your inherent speed."

"You think?" She asked quickly, lighting up at the prospect. "You think it's magic that makes me so fast?"

"I find it possible," he said, smiling. "You are very, very fast, Hawke. What's more, you are the only person who has ever been able to sneak up on me."

"But I _can't_ sneak up on you," she scoffed. "You always know when I'm near."

"Only once you are already close enough to kill me," he said with a small laugh. "I certainly never _hear_ you coming, and I obviously never see you."

"Then how do you know? Even early on, you always knew something was amiss."

He shrugged. "At first I thought it was a feeling of unease, a feeling of..." he searched for a word. "Wrongness. Much like that foreboding feeling in your stomach when something bad is about to happen."

"I am a terrible omen, then?"

"Hardly," he said flatly. "I can merely sense when you are nearby."

"Fair enough," she said. She returned her gaze to how her fingers trailed down the lines on the back of his hand, and he stretched his fingers out as she followed them down to his fingertips. 

"I had no idea you would enjoy this so much," he teased. 

She giggled and shrugged her shoulders. "It makes me feel like a mage."

"I prefer you the way you are," he said without thinking. He cleared his throat. "You know how I feel about mages." 

"I do," she said, nodding. "Fenris, I don't know how to thank you for this."

"Thank me?" he asked with a laugh. "I hardly did anything."

"You've done more than you will ever really comprehend, I think," she said, looking at him with that startling sincerity that only she could employ. "In the few years we've known each other, you have done more for me than I think anyone ever has. I think I will be eternally grateful to you for everything you've done."

He was taken aback by the sadness that welled up in him. How could that be true? How could the simple, ordinary things he'd done for Anara in the past few years be more than anything anyone else had done for her? How long had it been since she had to take care of herself and her family? How long did she carry the responsibility of the whole world on her shoulders? How old had she been when she no longer had someone to look out for her and instead was forced to look out for herself? The idea that Hawke had gone so long with so many relying on her and never allowing herself to truly rely on anyone else sent an odd storm of emotions through his mind. 

"Hawke." 

"Hmmm?"

He looked down at her hand as it continued to map out his tattoos. "May I call you by your first name?"

She looked up at him abruptly. "What?"

"Not if it would make you uncomfortable, of course," he amended.

"No, no," she said quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's not that I just... why would you want to?"

"I rather like your first name," he said with a shrug. "You are the closest friend I have, we have been through much together, and you know more about me than anyone else in all of Thedas. It seems... strange that I should address you so formally."

She looked at him with that same studious, unreadable gaze, her eyes darting back and forth between his as she weighed his words. 

"I'd like that," she said softly. "I mean, I call you by your name, I suppose it's only fair. You are a very dear to me, Fenris." She laughed and shook her head. "Sometimes you are the only peace of mind I have."

He smiled and returned to looking at her hand that was now resting on his forearm, the glow of his lyrium peeking out between her fingers. 

"I am glad," he said finally, returning his gaze to meet her eyes. "That I was able to put your mind at ease, I mean. Maker knows you have done as much for me in the past."

"That's what friends are for," she said with a smile. 

"So I am coming to realize." He swallowed and tilted his head to the side, admiring the unusual color of her eyes, silently thankful to Malcolm Hawke for them. An eternity of silence seemed to pass between them before he spoke again. "I am very grateful for our friendship, Anara," he said softly. 

He noted the odd shiver that shot through her, and wondered if she was cold. Odd, he thought, he found the early morning unusually warm. 

"Is that so?" she asked, averting her eyes and laughing softly. 

"Yes," he said resolutely, studying her face. Had he embarrassed her? 

"Good," she said with a nod, swallowing audibly. "I am as well. Grateful, I mean." She turned over her shoulder and he followed her gaze. The sky was starting to brighten along the edge of the mountains, signaling the eminent sunrise. 

"The only time I see a sunrise is when I am with you," he said. "Perhaps that is indicative of how you have thrown my sleep schedule into upheaval."

She laughed and started to get to her feet. "I promise not to bother you tomorrow. You have more than earned some uninterrupted sleep."

"It has been a long few days for the both of us," he said, dusting off his hands as he stood beside her. "I imagine you are quite exhausted."

"So I am," she agreed. She pointed her thumb behind her. "I should get off your roof." 

He laughed and put his hands behind his back. "Goodnight, Anara." He motioned his head at the sunrise. "Or I suppose good morning." 

She pulled the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth as if she were considering something, or perhaps she was nervous, he didn't recognize the expression. Perhaps she was simply unsure of what to say.

Before he could ask her what was wrong, she slowly slid her hands on his shoulders and lurched up onto her toes, as if she intended to whisper something in his ear. 

But that wasn't what she did. 

She pressed her lips to his cheek, and he felt the lyrium on his chin and throat burst alight from the contact. His hands clenched around each other behind his back and he felt like every muscle in his body tensed. He felt the warmth of her breath as she exhaled against his skin before pulling back to look up at him, and he knew the astonishment probably read on his face, but he hadn't the presence of mind to school it. 

"Goodnight, Fenris," she said with a soft smile, lingering another moment before finally stepping away and turning to make her way to the neighboring rooftop. He watched her go, his mind trying to think a thousand things at once until she dropped onto the balcony of her bedroom. She turned around as she opened the door, giving him a small wave. 

He reacted automatically, returning the gesture without even thinking about it as he watched her disappear into her bedroom. 

Fenris could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the lyrium of his throat was still humming, his face was hot to the point of fever — even his ears seemed to burn. She had kissed him. He could still feel her lips against his skin, could still feel the length of her body as it had brushed against his. He turned to look at the spot they had been sitting in and slowly bent down to pick up her gloves. He stared at them as if they held the answers, as if they would tell him _why._

He'd been kissed before, but never as a gesture of friendship. The only kisses he'd ever received were from that of Danarius and his apprentices. His master would kiss the top of his head in some kind of unnerving fatherly gesture in front of others, and the apprentices would often kiss Fenris' cheeks, lips, sometimes forehead in an attempt to tease him or make a fool of him in front of guests. He even remembered one particularly unpleasant occurrence when Danarius' second apprentice, Vexis, had thrust her tongue into his mouth in a revolting show of his powerlessness. He only ever knew kisses as dispassionate, cruel, disgusting things.

None of those words applied to what Anara had just done. 

Her kiss had left him singed. Burning. Molten. It was gentle and it was tender, it was everything he'd been led to believe they were _supposed_ to be from Varric's atrocious serials. Perhaps it had been her attempt at thanking him, perhaps it was simply a gesture of kindness; he could not fathom any other reason for it. 

He slowly lowered himself into bed, finding that more than once his fingers brushed over the spot where her lips had been. He scowled and set his jaw, forcing his hand back to his side. Damn her. Just when he thought he'd reached a point of understanding, she managed to confuse him all over again. Would it never end?

Sleep, he realized, would not be in the cards for him that morning.


	26. The Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sup guys. So I have a crazy work week this week so no chapter next week i just won't have the time. But I made sure to get one done for this week so it's not too bad a wait. Thank you again for all the reviews and wonderful messages. They mean the world to me every one.
> 
> lovelovelove
> 
> Roarkshop

Fenris didn't leave his home unless he had to for two days. He hadn't realized just how exhausted the excursion into the Vimmark Mountains had made him, and he wound up sleeping in twelve hour bursts. 

He was awoken mid-afternoon by a timid but quick knocking on his door. He hadn't been in deep sleep, or he never would have heard it otherwise. He forced himself out of bed and down the stairs to open his front door. It obviously wasn't any of his comrades as they never used the front entrance. 

"Letter for you sir," a small boy said, handing him a folded up piece of paper with his name scrawled over it.

"Thank you," he said, taking the letter and watching the urchin bolt back into the thrum of Hightown. 

The handwriting was unfamiliar, and if that wasn't enough to make him wary, he had no idea who would even have cause to write him a letter. He tore open the generic seal as he made his way back upstairs and checked the signature at the bottom before reading. 

It was from Bethany. What the devil?

_Fenris,_

__

_It occurred to me yesterday that before the calamity with the Carta and Corypheus, you came to visit me in the Gallows with a very different intention than fighting off an army of bloodthirsty dwarves. What with all the insanity the past week, I had completely forgotten about it until just recently._

_If I recall correctly you came to me seeking advice on teaching Nara to swim. I don't know how much help I would be on the subject, you know very well she rarely listens to anyone, but I might be able to offer a little insight._

_I don't remember when she fell through the ice. We were all very young. Ever since, though, she's been terrified of being submerged in water. It was years before we could even convince her to come into shallow water with us, even if she could easily stand._

_You know how capable she is. Once she learns the mechanics, she will master swimming with the same ruthless efficiency that she masters everything. The problem will not be in teaching her, but in getting her to trust the water. I remember she says being in the water is like being 'swallowed up'. Before you can teach her the technical aspect of swimming, your biggest hurdle will be in getting her to be calm in it._

_I have no idea how you can do that, but I'm starting to think that if anyone can, it's you._

_Good luck, Fenris. I'm rooting for you._

_Bethany_

Fenris sat down at the desk in his bedroom and laid the letter flat on the top of it as he thought over its contents. Bethany had a point. Once Anara knew the mechanics of swimming, she would excel at it the way she did everything else. How would he get her comfortable with being submerged, he wondered. Bethany's insight seemed obvious, but Fenris was grateful for it. Perhaps he had been looking at the problem wrong. His motivation for the whole thing was invigorated; perhaps he would bring it up to Anara on their walk home from Wicked Grace tomorrow night.

He fished out a blank piece of paper from the supplies Anara had left him when she first started teaching him how to read and began to pen a reply to Bethany. 

_Bethany,_

__

_Thank you for your letter. I am sorry for the quality of my script as this is the first occasion I have had to pen a letter. I should also apologize for any misspellings as I am still new at this._

_I am sure you are right about Anara being perfectly capable once she learns the basics. Your insite is appreciated. Thank you for your vote of confidence. I will do my best in helping your sister to learn to swim._

_Fenris_

Fenris smiled down at his haphazardly scrawled letter. He re-wrote it on a fresh piece of paper once he was mostly certain he caught all of his spelling mistakes and stood to see it delivered. He only hoped Bethany could read it.

* * *

Hawke would have _loved_ to spend a few days recuperating from the nonsense in the Vimmark Mountains, but that just didn't seem to be in the cards for her. She had apparently missed two very important social events while she'd been gone and her mother was determined for her to make up for it. 

She found that, surprisingly, she didn't mind it this time. Whenever the nobles of Hightown were their typical boring selves, Hawke let her mind wander to sitting on Fenris' roof, running the tips of her fingers over his tattoos. She thought about how he had turned his head, allowing her to run her fingers down the side of his throat, only to turn and meet her eyes again, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

More than once someone commented on her good mood when they caught her grinning like a fool. 

After the tediousness of catching up with the social whirl, Hawke was more than glad to help Merrill with whatever business she had with Keeper Marethari. Varric could not be bothered, so Hawke sent word to Isabela. Hawke was rather impressed, albeit a little suspicious, of her timeliness. 

"Magpie," Isabela said by way of greeting. She was standing in front of the fire in Hawke's front room, waiting for the rogue to come downstairs. 

"We've got work, Izzy," Hawke said, closing the distance between them. 

"It's about time," she said with a sway of her hips. "You've left me at the Hanged Man to drown in my vices for long enough."

"Might I remind you," Hawke drawled, "that last time I counted on your assistance, I nearly found myself concussed."

"You're really never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Of course not," Hawke said with a grin before pulling on her hood. "What are friends for?"

"What is it we're doing?"

"A favor for Merrill. We have to go out to the Wounded Coast where the Dalish are and try to get some... artifact from the Keeper. I'm going to need you to be my voice."

"Your voice?" she asked. "Varric isn't coming?"

"No."

"I'm shocked. You never go anywhere without him."

"He's otherwise occupied."

"Varric? Too busy for your shenanigans?" Isabella scoffed.

"I think he's found a lead on his brother and he won't rest until he runs it down. You know how he gets when he's on a trail."

"Alright then, Magpie. Is there a plan?"

"Go get Merrill. Fenris and I will meet you outside the city gate. Be very respectful when speaking to the Keeper, but stay on your guard. I do not know what this... artifact does, nor do I plan on simply turning it over to Merrill before I know more about it."

"You can't think that Kitten has any... _nefarious_ plans."

"Of course not," Hawke said with a sigh. "But, I am perfectly prepared to protect her from herself, if that's what it takes. I get the feeling she doesn't quite know with what she is toying."

"I keep forgetting that she is a blood mage... she's so innocent and pretty and kind."

"I know," Hawke conceded, taking Isabella by the shoulders. "But she's dangerous, Izzy. You have to remember that."

"Well," Isabella said with a sigh. "We'd best get moving then."

* * *

Fenris never got the chance to bring up swimming lessons again. The next time he saw Hawke, he was giving her back the gloves she'd left on his roof and following her to the Wounded Coast. The Dalish encampment was nowhere near the sea, thankfully, but it still made Fenris uneasy. 

He could tell, even through her impenetrable silence, that Hawke was conflicted about the business with Merrill. She hated blood magic, and the recent excursion into her family's past had done nothing to gain her good opinion. On the other hand, however, Fenris knew she loved Merrill; it was hard not to. She was so kind and ignorant of the world. Even Fenris felt pained as Merrill mourned over the friends she found dead in the caves. Her tiny hands trembled as she picked up the emblem of each dead man and put it in her pouch. 

Even when they'd manage to find one alive, it wasn't going much better.

"Stay back," Pol screeched. "What do you want from me?"

"Pol," Merrill said, holding out a hand to him. "What's wrong? I'm here to help."

"Stay back!" Pol demanded again. "Don't touch me!"

"Merrill couldn't hurt you if she tried," Isabella chimed. "The worst I've seen her do is make those... pouty faces."

"She'll do more than hurt me!" Pol roared. "Don't you know what she is?"

Pol turned to run further into the caves, crying for someone to help him as he went. Fenris refrained from mentioning that they were the only help that was likely to show up, since he saw little point in trying to speak to the frenzied elf. Merrill chased after him, and the rest of the party followed after her, screeching to a halt when the varterral emerged and skewered Pol through the ribcage. 

"Pol!" Merrill screeched. 

"Maker, what is that thing?" Isabela asked, unsheathing her daggers. "It looks like a giant, fanged stick insect."

"It's the varterral," Merrill said urgently. "Hurry! We must get to Pol."

It was not an easy creature to defeat. Its massive branch-like limbs were long enough to reach across the entire cave, making it difficult to get behind it or out of its range. When they finally managed to fell the creature and all its clawing underlings, the entire party was scathed and winded. 

"That was unpleasant," Isabela groaned, picking up her dagger from where it had been thrown. 

"Pol," Merrill cried before turning to her friends. "Help—Help me!"

The party turned to look at her as she sat on her knees, trying to pull the younger man's torso into her lap. 

"We can—we can get him to the Keeper," she said, her voice thick and choking with emotion. "She can heal anything. Why aren't you helping me?"

"Merrill," Hawke said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder from behind. "There's nothing a healer can do. He's gone. I'm sorry."

A strangled sob burst from her throat as she curled around the boy's lifeless body. "Why?" she squeaked out. "Why did you run? You—you should have understood, you shouldn't— you shouldn't have..." Her sentence melted into soft, mournful sobs. 

The rest of them stood in silence. There was nothing to say, and they all knew it. Merrill wiped her eyes, sniffling as Hawke helped her to her feet. They walked out of the cave in relative silence, Isabela leading the way back.

"I want to speak to the Keeper," Merrill said, the tone of her voice strengthening with resolve. "Pol was... worldly. City-born. He should have understood. Something's not right. He... he ran from me like I was a monster."

"You _are_ a monster," Fenris said matter-of-factly.

Merrill stiffened, but kept walking. 

Hawke roughly palmed his chest plate, forcing him to an abrupt stop as Isabela led Merrill out of the caves. She waited until they were safely out of earshot before turning her frigid, golden eyes on him. He had grown so used to her eyes being filled with warmth and sincerity when she looked at him that it was startling to be on the receiving end of her frozen gaze again.

"That was ill timed and unnecessary," she said in that low, threatening tone of hers.

"It is the truth," he said simply, confused by her anger.

"It doesn't matter. Don't do it again."

"Hawke, she needs to realize the danger she is playing with." 

"She just found three of her friends' corpses while she watched a fourth die. It was not the time for your life lessons, it was a time for sympathy."

"Sympathy is what got her here," Fenris growled. "The lot of you treat Merrill like she's a child to be coddled. She is an adult and what she's doing is _wrong."_

"Making yourself the villain is all well and good until you are more concerned with being a prick than you are with the feelings of your friends, Fenris."

"What are you saying, that I should hold her and tell her everything is alright? Let her ignore the weight of her decisions?"

"I'm saying," she sneered, her tone low and menacing, "that out of all of us, _you_ also know what it's like to turn on the people who were trying to protect you, and your superiority rings oddly hollow to those of us who know it."

Fenris froze as the image of the Fog Warriors crashed through his mind. His hands bunched into fists and a flash of outrage went through him. How _dare_ she use that against him? How _dare_ she bring up something he told her in confidence and hold it over his head. 

However, the anger fizzled just as quickly as it had risen. She was right. It had not been the time nor the place to chastise Merrill so fiercely. He exhaled and relaxed against the wall, looking down at Hawke's hand keeping him pinned by his chest piece. 

"You are right, of course," he said softly, meeting her gaze again. "That is exactly the fate I wish to see her avoid. Her kindness and naivety that you find so endearing will not last long once she was awoken to find herself surrounded by the corpses of those that had trusted her." 

Hawke's features softened and her head tilted to the side. "Your story will not be hers, Fenris."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. 

"She has us," Hawke said softly, giving his chest piece an affectionate pat before walking past him and out of the caves. He waited a few moments before finally following.

Fenris was lost in his thoughts throughout the entire trek back to Kirkwall. He wondered if his time with the Fog Warriors would have been different if he'd had a friend who knew the danger that awaited him. He wondered if the Fog Warriors would still be alive if he had known Hawke then. 

He hoped so. 

Isabela and Hawke both said their goodbyes to Merrill outside of the elf's home, and it wasn't until Merrill disappeared behind the door that Fenris made a decision. 

He felt Hawke's eyes on him as he went through the door to Merrill's home. 

"Fenris," Merrill said as she turned to face him. She obviously hadn't been expecting him to be the one to follow her in. "If you're here to talk me out of fixing the mirror, save your breath. I've already—"

"Enough," Fenris said, holding up a hand to cease her rambling. "I am here to apologize."

"You, what?" she asked, clearly surprised by his words. "You are?"

"Not for my words," he clarified, "but for the manner and timing with which I delivered them. I do not think I said anything inherently _wrong,_ but I was obviously tactless in the matter. You suffered a grave loss today, and I am sorry for it."

She was silent for a long time as she slowly sat down in the chair she'd been standing in front of. 

"Thank you, Fenris," she said after a while. "I still don't like what you said, but I suppose I'll take what I can get. Like Varric always says, every little bit helps."

Fenris was almost satisfied with that, but before he could turn to leave, he exhaled and took a step closer. 

"Listen to me, Merrill," he said, gripping the back of the chair across from her. "You will regret the path you are on if you do not take pains to alter it. In the end, it does not matter if your master is a demon or a magister. All that will matter is that when you wake up, you will be surrounded by the corpses of those you consider friends, and you will have been the one to put them there."

She swallowed. "Wh-why are you telling me this?" 

"Because that does not have to be your fate. You have friends that care about you. Listen to them. Not everyone who has walked down the path you're now on has had that option."

She didn't say anything else, and he didn't need her to. He turned and left the small hovel, pausing when he saw Hawke standing in the door, smiling behind her mask.

"Shut up," he growled as he pushed past her.

* * *

The following night Hawke was startled awake in the middle of the night by a loud _'thunk'_ striking against the wall of her bedroom. The dagger she kept under her pillow was already in her hand before she was even fully coherent. She brandished it in the darkness, looking from side to side, but the room was empty. She leaned over, lit the lantern beside her bed, and pulled on her dressing gown. 

She made her way to her balcony doors and stepped out into the bracing cold of the night. The noise had sounded like it had come from outside, but she couldn't be sure. She looked down over the balcony and at the neighboring buildings, but she didn't see anyone. By all rights and purposes, Hightown was completely abandoned. 

She turned to go back into her bedroom when she saw the arrow embedded in the wall beside her door. The arrow was struck through a parchment, much like the threatening note Darin had left on her front door all that time ago. She whirled around to look at the rooftop across the way where the shooter would have been, but there was no sign of movement. She hurriedly snatched the arrow out of the wall and made her way into her bedroom, shutting and locking her balcony doors and drawing her drapes closed. 

Hawke fumbled to remove the parchment from the arrow before sitting at the edge of the bed and holding the paper so the light of her lantern hit it.

__

I know your secret, lady Hawke.

If you do not wish for all of Kirkwall to know it, you will meet me at the specified location at sunrise.

Come alone and unarmed. 

I will be watching. 

The second page was a map of the Planasene Forest just outside of Kirkwall with a large 'X' marked over the spot she was expected to go, just at the base of the mountains.

"Damn it to hell," she growled, falling back on her bed with her hands over her face. She had only _just_ averted the last disaster in her life, now she undoubtedly had a blackmailer to deal with on top of everything else? She was beginning to think Fenris was right. Maybe her penchant for disaster _was_ genetic. 

Those sodding dwarves had to be the cause of this. They were not exactly subtle while attacking House Amell and screaming 'blood of the Hawke' at the top of their lungs in the dead of night. She'd known it would only be a matter of time before people caught on. She couldn't hide it forever. 

Still, perhaps all was not lost. 

It was a good sign that the blackmailer thought forcing her to come alone would increase their chances of survival, because obviously they underestimated her. They were smart enough to force the meeting in the light of the morning instead of night time, which was a huge disadvantage to her, depending on how many there were. It also revealed that they knew enough about the Hawk to know she preferred the cover of darkness.

She thought about asking Fenris to accompany her, but the ominous tone of the 'I will be watching' made her think twice about it. It was probable that they picked a location that was most advantageous to them. Somewhere from which they could easily see whether or not Hawke came alone before she even knew where they were. Undoubtedly, they would have back up plans and escape routes planned. Blackmailers were good at that sort of thing.

Luckily, appearing to be unarmed was a specialty of hers.

Hawke sat up and began to dress. She only had an hour or two before sunrise and it was obvious she wasn't going to be getting anymore sleep.

* * *

The blackmailer did not see nor hear the Hawk approaching. The sound of the waterfall hitting the lake was good cover and the sun had only just come up over the horizon, granting the forest plenty of shadow. 

But, in that way he always did, he just knew she was there. 

Fenris paused where he had been playing his violin and lounging against the base of a tree when he felt her coming. "Good morning," he said before he even saw her, putting his violin down. 

"Fenris," she said as she stepped out of the shadows, pulling her mask down. "What... You..."

"I see you got my letter," he said as he stood to face her, dusting off his hands. 

"You _prick,"_ she growled, but he could see the humor sparkling in her eyes. "I thought I was going to have to _murder_ someone." 

"No doubt. I know nothing better to get you motivated than the promise of murder." He laughed and rolled out his shoulders. " I apologize for the theatrics. Perhaps Varric is wearing off on me." 

"And what is the point of all this?" she asked, crossing her arms and sinking into a hip. "What possible reason could you have for getting me out into the middle of the forest at the crack of dawn?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked, motioning his hand to the lake. "Your swimming lessons start now."

She stilled and her eyes widened. Even over the sound of the water he could hear the breath she swallowed. 

"You have been avoiding the subject for months now," Fenris said softly as he closed the distance between them. "I told myself that once I managed to get you to meet me here, getting you into the water would be easier. Desperate times, etcetera."

"Fenris..."

"The water is barely chest deep on this end," Fenris quickly defended. "I will be with you the whole time." 

She exhaled a shaky breath as she looked at the lake, and then back at him. "You are going to be relentless about this until I agree, aren't you?" 

"I may prove to be more stubborn than you in this particular case," he said with a small smile. "I know you wish to learn, Anara. Let me teach you." 

She looked at the lake again, but he could see the resignation in her eyes. "Very well," she said, almost sounding defeated as she began to remove layers of her armor. "I can see you will not change your mind until the task has proven impossible."

"Have you so little faith in me?"

"My faith in _you_ isn't the problem," she groaned as she pulled the long tunic off over her head, revealing a strap of throwing knives across her back.

"I thought I told you to come unarmed," he teased with one eyebrow raised. 

"You, of all people, should have known better," she shot back, finally starting to smile again. She removed everything until she was just wearing the short sleeved shirt and tight trousers she wore under all her armor. She folded it all into a neat pile next to his violin and clapped her hands against her thighs. "Very well," she said with an exhale. "Let's get on with it." 

He led her to a small embankment on the opposite side of the lake from the waterfall. He began to step in until he was knee deep and turned when he didn't hear her following him. She was standing at the very edge, arms crossed tightly across her chest and looking down at the water as it calmly lapped against the shore. Fear was rarely something he saw expressed on her sharp, confident face. He had caught a glimpse of it the day Bethany had been taken to the Circle, and again at the Hanged Man when their comrades had tried to force her to sing, but it wasn't until that moment that he realized just how deeply ingrained in her this particular fear was.

"I don't think I can do this," she said softly, raising her eyes to him. 

"Nonsense," he said, holding his hand out to her. "If I have learned anything during my time in Kirkwall, it is that you are not to be underestimated." 

She hesitated before slowly reaching out toward his hand, taking small, tentative steps as if she were afraid of slipping. He took a step toward her to close the distance so he could reach her hand and slowly led her further into the lake. When she would freeze, so would he, allowing her whatever time she needed to adjust before she continued to follow him. 

"Your sister said," he began, speaking as a means of distracting her, "that teaching you will not be the problem. The difficulty lies in getting you to be comfortable in the water first."

"Something like that," she said through chattering teeth. He knew very well she wasn't cold. She was afraid, and Fenris set his jaw and fought the urge to tell her she didn't have to do this now. His concern for her was what had allowed her to put it off for this long in the first place. 

Once the water was about waist deep, just under chest height for her, she was violently shaking. 

"It's alright," he said softly, bringing her closer by her hand. "I will not let anything happen to you." 

The second she was close enough, her hands fiercely gripped into the chest of his tunic and she buried her face against his shoulder, holding onto him like she might sink if she didn't. Fenris covered her hands with his and stood there with her for long moments as she shook. 

Something in Fenris' chest ached at the sight of her like this. Anara was, without a doubt, the most capable and formidable person he knew. To see her look so weak, as small and afraid as a church mouse... It felt like it broke something within him. 

"I'm s-sorry," she said into his shoulder, tightening her fists in his shirt. "I'm sorry I'm like this."

"Do not apologize," he said gently. "I am all too familiar with fear."

Finally, she looked up at him. "You are?"

"Yes," he said, meeting her gaze. "There were a great many things that reduced me to quivering when I was a slave." 

She scoffed. "Yes, but I doubt any of those fears were irrational. You had very good reason to be afraid, I'd wager."

"The mind does not care what it is you are afraid of," he said. "Only that you are afraid. I learned long ago that the reason doesn't matter, only the response."

"Th-thank you," she said, haltingly. "For understanding and not... mocking me or..." she didn't finish, just shook her head. 

"You cannot help being afraid," he said. "Yet in spite of it, here you are. That is to be admired. Not mocked."

She looked up at him again and her trembling stilled slightly. He realized that she wasn't only afraid of the water, but afraid of his opinion once he'd seen her this way. 

"Alright," she said, putting forth effort to calm her voice. "What's next?"

"I think it would be wise for you to get comfortable going under the water at all before we go any further."

"Under?" she asked. "You want me to go all the way under the water?"

"You have to be comfortable being submerged before you can move freely."

He could feel her entire body go tense at the prospect, but she didn't back down. "Alright," she said, swallowing hard. "Don't... Don't let go." 

"I won't," he promised, firming his grip on her hands. 

She hesitated before closing her eyes and sucking in a hard breath. As she lowered herself into the water, Fenris kept his grip on her hands, only shifting them to move up her forearms so he could take her weight easier. 

He saw the exact moment she panicked. 

She shot out of the water like a drowning cat, throwing her arms around his neck and flailing wildly. He hadn't been prepared for her to react so violently, so she ended up pulling him down into the water with her and kneeing him in the chin, which only furthered her terror. He attempted to right himself as she tried frantically to climb him. He coughed out the mouthful of water he'd inhaled as he got upright again, noting that Hawke was practically on his shoulders, clinging to him desperately. 

"Hawke," he said, trying to sound authoritative. "It's alright." He tossed his head to get his wet hair out of his eyes as he reached up to take her by the waist and bring her back down. 

"I'm sorry," she said, coughing. "I panicked."

"Yes, I saw," he teased, bringing her back to her feet and allowing her to grip into his tunic again. 

"I'm sorry," she said again, mortified by her fit. 

"It's alright," he said, reaching up to push his hair out of his face. "What happened?"

"I thought... you were letting go and I..." she shook her head and cleared her throat. "The water... I think it went up my nose and then I choked and then I was panicking." 

"I see," he said, narrowing his eyes as he chewed on his words. "We are going to try again, but this time, only hold your breath until you are submerged. Then slowly exhale your breath through your nose."

She looked up at him, still shaking, her wet hair stuck to the side of her face and her eyes still wide and afraid. She took a deep, shuttering breath, then nodded her consent.

He lowered her into the water again, and just as he had instructed, she exhaled once she was under the water. He could feel her body tense and her hands tighten in his, but she didn't panic, and didn't fight to come up until he lifted her back out. 

"Good," he praised gently.

"That wasn't so bad," she said, removing her hands from his so she could wipe the water off her face. He took a small victory in the fact that she was standing on her own. "Just like being in a cold bath. With my clothes on. With someone else."

"Progress is progress," he said with a small laugh before taking a step back from her."Try it without me this time."

Once she was comfortable moving around in the shallow water on her own, Fenris thought of Bethany's letter and her advice. He figured that before he could teach her anything, he should get her used to the feeling of moving through the water without the safety of being able to touch the ground. 

"We're going to go to the other side," he said, motioning his hand toward where the waterfall was. 

"But... I can't stand on that side. The water's too deep."

"That's the point," he said, turning around to give her his back. "Come on."

He could see her hesitate before she put her hands on his shoulders. "I'm not sure this is wise, Fenris."

"Trust me," he said, taking her hands off his shoulders and wrapping her arms around the front of his throat. "Hang on tightly. But preferably not tight enough to strangle me."

As she pressed up against his back, he could feel the shivering returning to her limbs, so he decided to move quickly. 

"Take a breath and let it out under the water," he instructed as he carried her toward the deeper water on his back. "When we resurface, take another breath. Understand?"

"Won't you sink with me on your back like this?" 

"Have a little faith in my strength," he said, turning a smile over his shoulder at her. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." 

He instructed her to take a breath and then submerged them in the water. He felt her arms tighten around his neck as he began to swim them across, resurfacing more often than he would normally so she could take a breath. The farther he went, the calmer she seemed, and by the time he reached the other end of the lake she was loosely hanging onto his shoulders with her hands. He reached out to take the edge of the bank to hold them up while he turned to look at her. 

"See?" he said, combing his hair back out of his face with his fingers. "It is not all that frightening, is it?"

"I find a lot of things are less frightening when I'm at your back, Fenris," she teased with a small laugh, moving to grip the edge of the bank beside him. 

"I am glad to hear that," he said with a grin, surprised by just how pleased her admission made him. 

"But you will not always be here."

"I am here now," he assured her. "That is all that matters."


	27. The Descent

Fenris was inordinately pleased with Hawke's first swimming lesson. 

They hadn't started actually teaching her the mechanics of swimming yet, but before they left the forest she had become infinitely more comfortable moving through the water with him. It was such a simple thing, and yet Fenris found himself oddly proud for getting her that far. He had known it was going to be a slow process, so he hadn't expected to get as far as he did. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he had originally thought she would be angry by his deception to get her down to the lake. Yes, it had all gone much better than he originally anticipated. 

The best part about the whole thing was how excited Hawke had been by the time they were walking back toward the city. She had been absolutely buzzing, chattering about how he had so effortlessly pulled her along through the water and how easy it all seemed so long as he was there. She had even been eager to plan their next lesson, and they agreed that they would meet in the mornings twice a week every week.

_I find a lot of things are less frightening when I'm at your back, Fenris._

He was still smiling about that when he threw himself into bed that night.

* * *

"And who invited _you_?" Anders said with a defiant cross of his arms, watching Varric and Fenris approach. 

"Hawke, of course," Fenris droned. He hadn't been pleased to read Hawke's letter that she needed his help in some mission to help Anders that afternoon, but Fenris knew better than to think he was going to refuse.

"Now, children, that's enough," Varric said. "We haven't even started, let's keep the bickering to a minimum, please?"

"Where’s Hawke?" Anders asked, directing his question to Varric. 

"She had to help her mother with something," Varric explained, waving a dismissive hand. "She's on her way and said you'd brief us when we got here."

"Very well," Anders began. "I've been keeping an eye on this templar, Alrik is his name. He's a nasty piece of work. He's been implementing something he calls 'The Tranquil Solution'. It's a scheme to turn every mage in Kirkwall Tranquil within the next three years."

_"Every_ mage?" Fenris asked. 

"That's nonsense," Varric added. "Chantry law states that only mages who fail the Harrowing can be made Tranquil."

"Exactly. Alrik has been using the Rite of Tranquility to silence any mages who speak against him."

"And how, exactly, do you know this?" Fenris asked. 

"Just look around," Anders sneered, gesturing a hand toward the rest of Darktown. "There are more and more Tranquil every day. Mages I know for a _fact_ passed the Harrowing."

"This Alrik," Varric interjected. "How do you know him? How do you know he's behind it?"

"I've had a run in with him before," Anders said, turning his head to look off in the distance. "He's the templar that made Karl Tranquil."

"Is that so?" Fenris growled, crossing his arms, not bothering to hide his distaste for that last statement. 

"What?" Anders snapped. "What is it, now?"

"This... 'Tranquil Solution' of yours. Is it an actual threat or is this merely contrived revenge for the tragic end of your accursed lover?"

Anders' eyes flashed blue, only briefly, as his jaw clenched hard. 

"How _dare_ you accuse me of deceiving you all," Ander sneered. "I may be a lot of things, Fenris, but a liar is not one of them."

“He has a point,” Varric said in his defense. 

"Very well," Fenris said, narrowing his eyes. "With any luck we shall be jailed as thieves, rather than hung as conspirators."

"Thank the Maker," Varric exhaled, seeing Hawke slinking down toward them. "Hurry up, would you? They're at it again."

Hawke looked between the two with that 'we've talked about this' look in her eyes. 

"If you're ready," Anders said, turning to head into the tunnels. "It's this way." Anders held the iron trap door up so that Hawke and Varric could jump down into the tunnel. When Fenris went to do the same, Anders stopped him. "I know you don't like me," he said, fixing his eyes on the elf's face. "But I appreciate you coming to help me nonetheless." 

"I am not here to help _you_ ," Fenris said coldly. "Make no mistake, apostate, I am here because I trust Hawke and am confident that she can reign in your insanity. For your sake, you should hope that my faith is well placed."

He didn't give Anders a chance to defend himself, simply jumped down into the tunnel.

* * *

"No, please," the mage girl was begging. "I just wanted to see my mum!"

"So you admit to your escape attempt," Alrik droned. "You know what happens to mages who don't toe the line around here."

"Please," she said, dropping to her knees. "Please, don't make me Tranquil, I'll do anything!"

"What do you think?" Varric asked, looking to Hawke. "I don't want the girl to get branded, but we're on their territory here."

"You can't be serious," Anders whispered viciously. "She has done nothing wrong!"

Hawke, who had been looking at the ground as she thought, turned her head to look at Fenris, an odd pleading in her eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Fenris," she whispered, knowing full well he could hear her, even over the commotion. "I can't let them do this."

Fenris' features softened and he exhaled a slow breath through his nose, giving her a single nod in understanding. "If we are going to do this," he rumbled softly, "we must make sure none of them escape. I don't care how wrong they are, killing a group of templars will end badly for us if any of them live."

Hawke gave him one quick nod before turning back to the group. "You know what to do," she whispered. "Take them down."

"Get the brand," Alrik was saying. "We're going to— what do we have here?" he crooned, taking note of the four strangers striding through the door way. 

Blue light surged through Anders, and he spun his staff in his hand as the eerie voice of Justice encroached on his words. _"You fiends will never touch another mage again,"_ Justice bellowed. 

"Control yourself, abomination," Fenris chastised. "We need your head on straight."

"Get them!" Alrik demanded, sending the templars sprinting toward them. 

Fenris immediately dashed for the far exit, making sure to keep any templars that might run from getting away. He didn't like fighting without Hawke at his back, but he knew better than to think Anders had the capacity to think clearly. So Fenris waited, systematically slicing through the runners as they came to him. Once he was satisfied they could manage the group, he jumped down from the rocky ledge and charged into the fray, smiling as Hawke naturally fell in behind him. 

It took longer than expected to make Alrik fall, but after wearing him down enough, the templar was finally defeated as a terrible, gurgling laugh escaped him. 

"Well," Varric said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "That was unnerving." 

"Look at this," Fenris said, picking a paper off the ground. Hawke made her way to him as he read the contents out loud. "To her Excellency, Divine Justinia, I am well aware both you and Knight-Commander Meredith have rejected my proposal, but I beg you to reconsider."

"Excellency," Hawke whispered, nudging Fenris in the ribs with her elbow. "A whole four syllables."

"Shut up," Fenris said with a smirk before turning his attention to Anders. "Seems you were right about the—Anders!" 

Fenris knew that addressing Anders by his name was what made Hawke's attention snap to the mage, since he did it so rarely.

"Get away from me, _demon!_ " the girl was shouting, covering her head with her arms defensively. 

_"I am no demon!"_ Justice roared, looming over her. _"Are you one of them, that you would call me such?"_

"What are you doing?" Fenris sneered, stepping into Justice's line of sight to get his attention off of Hawke helping the girl to her feet. "This girl is no templar, she is one of your own."

_"She is theirs!"_ Justice bellowed. _"I can feel their hold on her."_

"Anders, get a hold of yourself," Varric demanded, gruffly gripping the mage by the forearm. 

The contact only seemed to enrage Justice as he used Varric's grip to hurl the dwarf into Fenris' chest. Fenris caught him just in time for Justice to motion his hand and send them both careening back to the other side of the room where they crashed hard into the rocky wall.

"No!" the mage screamed, cowering behind Hawke. "No, stop!"

"Anders!" Hawke shouted. "Snap out of it!"

Fenris got to his feet to see that Hawke was standing defiantly in front of the girl, arms stretched out to her sides. Fenris tried to run to her but he found that once he was on his feet, they wouldn't obey him. He looked down to see that he was frozen in place by one of Anders' glyphs on the ground. 

"Damnation," Fenris cursed as he tried to break free of the paralysis. "Anara! Get out of here!"

"Anders," Hawke said, pulling her mask and hood down. "Wake up. Please, don't do this." She moved as if she were going to touch his face, but Justice slapped her hand away. 

_"Do not presume to know me,"_ he roared, grabbing Hawke by the throat and easily hefting her into the air. 

_"No!"_ Fenris shouted, watching helplessly as Hawke's feet kicked in the air. 

"Anders," she croaked, clawing at Anders' wrist with both her hands. "Anders, it's me. It's Hawke." 

Anders didn't budge, the blue cyclone of electricity still ominously swirling around him as he held Hawke in the air by her throat. 

It wasn't the stilling of her feet that snapped him out of his murderous rage. It wasn't Hawke's quiet pleas or her body going limp in his hand. It was the mage girl making a break toward the exit that tore Anders' attention away from strangling his friend. He started to lower the rogue to the ground, moving his other hand toward the mage as if to stop her. 

Fenris didn't know what would have happened if the glyph hadn't worn off. He didn't know if he would have been forced to watch the life continue to drain out of Hawke's body, he didn't know if the small mage girl would have been set aflame by Justice's magic, he didn't know if Anders would have come to grips in time. It didn't matter, however, because the glyph _did_ wear off, and Fenris launched himself across the rocky cave and tackled Anders to the ground. 

Once the mage was sprawled on his back, Fenris lifted up just enough to reel back his fist and plunge it into Anders' face, feeling how the sharp points of his gauntlet cut into the skin of his jaw. Fenris didn't bother to see if the punch had successfully knocked Anders unconscious; instead, he immediately turned his attention to Hawke.

She was lying limp and lifeless on the ground where Anders had dropped her, and Fenris scrambled to her side to lift her into his lap. He pressed his fingers to her throat, careful not to hurt her with his gauntlets, and was relieved to feel her pulse beating steadily beneath his fingers. She was unconscious, but she'd live. 

Anders stirred, and Fenris noted that the ominous blue glow had faded from the mage's face as he sat up, rubbing his bruised and bloodied jaw.

"Maker," Anders said, getting to his knees. "Hawke, is she — Here, let me —"

"Don't touch her," Fenris growled, clinging her to his chest protectively. "You have done enough, abomination." 

"I... I'm sorry... I didn't... I wasn't..." 

"Get out of here," Fenris barked before turning his attention back to Hawke. 

He heard Anders get to his feet. He didn't know what the mage did for the few minutes he stood there in silence, but eventually he ran out of the caves, muttering something under his breath as he went.

"What happened?" Varric said as he finally regained consciousness from being thrown. "Did we win?"

"Barely," Fenris growled.

* * *

"It wasn't him, you know," Hawke said as Fenris helped her to her bed. 

"I'm well aware," Fenris droned. "Let me see your throat."

She swallowed and winced as the action caused her discomfort. She tilted her head back and could hear Fenris removing his gauntlets from his hands. 

"How does it look?" she asked, her voice still hoarse and strained. 

"It is going to bruise rather badly," he said softly as he slid his hands onto either side of her throat, running his thumbs gently along the sensitive skin. She could feel the markings in his hands buzzing as they reacted to her. "It would be wise to ice it." 

"I think I can manage that," she croaked. 

"I cannot believe you are not angry with him," he growled. "This is the second time he has almost killed you."

"The first time was an accident, Fenris," she defended. "And this wasn't him. It was the demon. It was controlling him."

"Exactly my point," Fenris said, standing over her and removing his hands from her throat. "He obviously no longer holds as much control as he believes he does. He is dangerous, Anara, you cannot allow him to keep this up."

Hawke swallowed and winced again, looking down at her hands in her lap. "I can't give up on him," she said quietly. 

"Why the devil not? How many times must he attempt to murder you before you come to your senses?" 

"I have to believe he can come back, Fenris," she said a little louder, finally looking up at him. "I have to believe that I can help him." 

He exhaled through his nose and shook his head, crossing his arms, every bit the scolding parent. "You care about him so much, then?" he asked, something Hawke almost thought was _sadness_ in his voice.

"I gave him my word, Fenris," she said, shaking her head. "I promised him I would help him beat this. I can't give up on him. Not now that he needs me the most."

"Very well," Fenris said with a sigh, turning to leave. "I know better than to argue with you."

"Thank you," she called after him. "For helping me back home."

"Of course." 

"And for helping him," she added. "Thank you for tackling him to stop him instead of killing him."

He hesitated in the door before looking back at her over his shoulder. "Remember this when next you agree to help him with his paranoid nonsense," he said, his features set in hard, unyielding lines. "For it will be the _last_ time he hurts you and lives to tell about it."

She swallowed again as Fenris shut the door to her bedroom, and she didn't move until she could hear Bodhan letting him out of the house.

Hawke sighed and fell backward onto her bed, splaying her arms out to the sides as she stared up at the maroon canopy above her. Fenris was right that Anders was losing control. Perhaps she was a fool for hoping that this little incident would be the mage's inspiration to get Justice back under wraps. 

She put her hand on her throat and shivered as she remembered the cold look in Anders' eyes, the feeling of her windpipe being crushed in his one large, powerful palm. He would have never been able to lift her so effortlessly without the added strength of Justice... no, Anders would never have hurt her like that. 

Fenris had touched her wounded throat with gentleness she didn't even know he possessed. His hands were calloused and rough, but his touch had been so tender and careful. She shivered again, this time for an entirely different reason.

One thing was certain; she wouldn't be helping Anders with anymore of his little tasks without Fenris there to help her.

* * *

When Fenris left Hawke's estate, he didn't go home; he turned and headed straight for Darktown.

He had a few choice words he wanted to personally deliver to the abomination, and he wasn't about to wait to do it at the Hanged Man where Varric or Hawke would interfere. No, what Fenris had to say, he would say to Anders alone, without the meddling of the others.

It was after midnight when he arrived at the clinic. The mage was alone inside, his head hanging forlornly in his hands as he sat on his bed. He was clearly upset with himself. Good.

Fenris leaned his shoulder on the door frame of the clinic and crossed his arms. "I seem to recall you saying something a while ago," he said, feigning whimsy. 

"Shut up," Anders snapped without looking up.

_"'I can control it.'"_ Fenris mimicked. "Wasn't that what you said?"

"So help me, Fenris."

_"'A danger to himself and everyone around him,'_ I believe were my exact words."

"What do you want?" Anders demanded, his head snapping up as his hands fell away.

"What I want doesn't matter," Fenris spat as he came further into the room. Fenris could feel his markings starting to react to his anger, but made no attempt to stop them as they slowly came alight. "What does matter is that you are running out of allies. I wonder how many times you must attempt to kill Hawke before she will finally turn her back on you."

"Just shut up," Anders barked, standing up from the bed so he was toe-to-toe with Fenris. "Can't you see I already know what I did?"

"Do you? Do you _really?_ " Fenris growled through his teeth. He gripped into the front of Anders' robe and slammed him up against the wall, much like he had on the day Hawke almost drowned. "I do not think you fully understand the weight of your situation, mage." 

"I do," Anders said, his brows knitting in anger, but a genuine sadness in his tone. "I do understand. I let him make me turn on you all, I... I almost killed that girl."

"Your actions tonight cannot be forgotten as an accident, Abomination," Fenris sneered, his hands tightening in the mage's robe. "Tonight you fractured the trust of the only person in this city you can truly call an ally. Tonight that _demon_ in you made sure that every time she looks at you, she will remember the feeling of your hand as you choked the life out of her. Tonight, Anders, you proved exactly how _weak_ you really are."

Fenris could see that the mage wanted to protest, saw the clenching of his jaw and righteous indignation in his eyes, but they both knew there was nothing he could say, no possible defense for having almost strangled Hawke. Fenris brought the mage back to his feet and leaned in until he could see the glow of his markings on the other man's skin. 

"Blame the demon all you like," Fenris said, his tone low and threatening, "but it is _you_ who failed tonight. It was your weakness that almost killed that girl. It was at your hand round Hawke's throat and this is the _last_ time I will allow you to walk away from hurting her, do you understand me? The next time you cause a threat to her, I will reach into your chest and show you your own beating heart, and I will not think twice about it." 

Fenris shoved Anders against the wall again, releasing him and turning to walk out of the clinic.

"Not all mages are weak," Anders called after him. 

"Yes, I'm aware," Fenris said as he walked away. " _Bethany,_ for example, is not weak."

"I'll show you," Anders said, clenching his fists. "I'll _prove_ to you that I'm not weak."

"Prove it to yourself," Fenris spat. "After tonight, you will convince no one else."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry for no chapter last week. I hope this chapter makes up for it! I'll try and get one next week but life has been super crazy for me lately. Love you all! And thank you so much for your comments on the last chapter they made me so happy! I am so excited and grateful to be writing this for those of you that are still enjoying it.
> 
> Lovelovelove
> 
> Roarkshop


	28. The Surrender

Fenris refused Hawke's offer to continue her swimming lessons that week, and when she threatened to show up at his home for their usual night of reading, he cut her off at the pass and went to her home instead. He knew better than to think he could convince Hawke to forsake his (now long unneeded) reading lessons in favor of recuperating; so instead of arguing with her, he opted to move them to her estate. 

He sat in the large high backed chair in front of Hawke's fireplace, an ankle crossed over his knee and his chin resting on his knuckles as he read the book in his lap. He'd managed to confine Hawke to her bed by agreeing to turn the chair around so he could face her as he read. Every time he glanced up at her, he had to fight a smile. She was very obviously fighting off sleep and putting forth great effort to stay awake long enough for him to finish. 

She didn't even make it halfway. 

Fenris laughed softly to himself before closing the book and getting to his feet. He righted the chair he'd been sitting in and made his way to her bedside, gently setting the book down on the nightstand.

He never really got used to the sight of her sleeping, regardless that he saw it more and more often of late. She looked so peaceful, so young and unburdened. When she was sleeping, he saw nothing of how the tribulations of life had stained her spirit, none of the weariness or ghosts that usually haunted her expression just behind her eyes.

She was going to be the death of him, hopeless, kind little fool that she was. He ran his eyes critically over the handprint on her throat, no longer red and swollen but purple and bruised. He shook his head as he remembered the panic he felt when he saw her feet start to still while Anders held her in the air. His tremendous concern for her safety was proving to have quite the hold on him, just as it had when she'd almost drowned.

Fenris reached out to gently move a lock of hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear, feeling the buzz in his fingertips from the contact. She made a soft little sound in her sleep and moved her face into his palm; he felt his expression drop and every muscle in his body snap taut. Instead of just the lyrium that was touching her skin, his entire arm burst alight. Something in his chest wrenched, like someone was trying to pull his heart out through his throat. 

Hesitantly, and not completely certain he wasn't going mad, he pressed his palm more firmly against her jaw and traced his thumb along her cheekbone. The effect it had on him couldn't be ignored. He had to reach out with his free hand to steady himself on the bedpost, feeling a distinct and unfamiliar weakness sweep through his legs. 

Fenris slowly pulled his hand away, fighting the instinct to jerk it back and wake her. He swallowed hard and felt his jaw clench painfully before he started to back out of the room. He didn't understand the heat in his skin or the rush of his blood in his ears, but he knew he had to get out. 

What was _happening_ to him?

* * *

Hawke healed quickly, as she always did. She couldn't stand being on bed rest for longer than was absolutely necessary, and every day the hand print on her throat looked less and less like a hand and more and more like a small amorphous bruise. She had been able to skip the many social functions her mother had planned for her since she couldn't very well be seen with such an obvious wound. It would be a disaster if the nobles were to figure out she had a penchant for running around the Free Marches as the Hawk; and even if they didn't figure that out, they would at least assume she had an abusive lover or otherwise questionable love life. 

Better to avoid that whole nightmare entirely. 

Her swimming lessons resumed the following week. Bethany had been right in telling Fenris that once her fear of the water had been conquered, she would pick up the mechanics of swimming rather effortlessly. It wasn't a complicated thing to swim, and when Fenris was near her, the blackness of the water didn't seem nearly as daunting. She wouldn't drown, not with him beside her. She was as certain of that as the sunrise.

It was only a month or two before Hawke was effortlessly keeping up with him as they swam the distance of the lake back and forth. Much like Fenris' reading lessons, they almost ceased to be lessons at all. It was more like they showed up to the lake twice a week to exercise together. 

She was excited to finally learn how to swim in the ocean as Fenris led her to the Wounded Coast. It couldn't possibly be that different from swimming in the lake. Regardless of the water, the mechanics would undoubtedly remain the same. She remembered the few occasions she'd watched Bethany and Carver playing in the ocean, gliding along the waves and into the sand. She had been so jealous of them as a child, and she wanted to learn how to do what they did. 

She followed him into the surf, feeling the sand between her toes and the bracing cold of the water. It had been a few weeks since Fenris had started removing everything but his leggings to swim with her. He moved through the water easily without the encumbrance of a tunic, and Hawke followed him out into the ocean, watching the lines of his back as he moved; she certainly wasn't going to complain.

They waded out until they were about waist deep. Fenris ducked under a wave and let it roll over him before emerging, pushing his wet hair back over his head before turning to locate her with a small smile. 

Yes, coming to the ocean had been a splendid idea. The sunrise made Fenris' olive skin glisten in the sea water, his markings stark and white against his dark complexion. His hair slicked back over his head and water dripping from his ears and chin made a sharp pang of awareness strike through Hawke, and she had to bite down the unabashed _want_ that threatened her. 

"This doesn't seem so bad," she said brightly as she bobbed up and down in the waves, sinking down just enough for a wave to glide over her the way Fenris had just done. "The water is less pleasant, however."

"Yes, the salt of the sea is not exactly palatable," he teased. 

"How far should we swim?" 

"Come further out first," he said, gesturing a hand for her to follow him. "I would prefer for you to become more accustomed to the motions of the tide before we swim out any distance." 

They spent a good hour in the surf, Fenris showing her how to use the momentum of the waves to make the swim to shore easier and using the current to let it guide her out again. He was right in that it was very different than swimming in the lake, but so long as she stayed calm, she didn't see a problem. 

"As much as I enjoy playing in the water with you," she said, sitting on the sand with her legs splayed out as the tide swept over them, "it's almost noon. Shouldn't we do some actual swimming?" 

"Very well," he conceded, offering her a hand up before turning to look out into the water. He raised one hand to shield his eyes as he surveyed the horizon. "There," he finally said, pointing. "Do you see those rocks?"

She followed his eye line and nodded. 

"We will swim out until we are parallel with them and then back."

"I've swam further than that at one time in the lake, haven't I?"

"Indeed you have," he said as he turned toward the horizon. "But you will tire more quickly in the ocean. I would prefer to err on the side of caution."

She smiled as she turned to make her way back into the sea, following his lead when he dove under the waves and started to swim out. He kept pace with her even though she knew damn well that he could be going much faster, but she was grateful regardless. Just knowing he was near made any fear that had been threatening her dissipate.

"You were right about one thing," she said once they stopped to tread water, parallel to the rocks he'd pointed out. "This is much more tiring than swimming in the lake."

"Yes," Fenris agreed. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she said, ducking under the water and coming back up. "It's much calmer out here than I expected." 

"Let us return," he said. "I think this has been quite enough for today."

"Tired already, Fenris?" she couldn't help but tease. "What, are your muscles just for show?"

"No, my muscles serve a purpose. Unlike the flailing of limbs you call swimming." 

She lurched forward and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down under the water before letting go. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her down with him; she made a startled sound before she was swallowed up. She started laughing even before she breeched the surface again, reaching for his shoulders to hold herself up as she wiped her hair out of her eyes. 

His hand found the small of her back to help hold her up as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Of course, by now he'd grown accustomed to holding her this way. Whenever she became afraid or unsure, she would instinctively reach for him, and he would bring her into his chest and just hold her up until she was comfortable enough to let go again. 

Usually, her fear or uncertainty would do a wonderful job distracting her from the ropey muscles under her hands or the way the lengths of their bodies fit together. She didn't have either of those distractions this time, however. Her hands splayed out over his shoulders, and she could feel the comforting hum of his lyrium reacting to her even through her clothes. The markings on his torso came alight as he held her, and he was like a singular beam of moonlight in the dark water.

How he managed to be on the run for so long and never become passionate with another person, she didn't know. There had to have been plenty of women, and even several men, who would have thrown themselves at the lithe, muscular elf. Especially if they'd ever seen him like this, half naked and soaking wet, his soaked hair slicked back over his head. Maker, it was a wonder his sharp ears couldn't hear how her heart was thrumming.

Of course, he was completely oblivious to everything going on in her head. To him, he was simply helping his fearful friend stay afloat in the ocean. No, nothing alluring to be seen from his side, she was certain. He wasn't even looking at her. Anara Hawke had never been a great temptation, not like Bethany or Isabela in any event.

She found herself rather hugely disheartened by it. She had known he cared for her for a long time, but she was beginning to realize that it was very possible that he would never look at her the way she looked at him. 

Hawke tried not to let the disappointment show on her face as she pulled away from him reluctantly, already missing the warmth of his body against hers. 

"Ready to head back?" she asked, forcing her tone to be light. 

"Indeed." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Would you like a head start?"

"Ugh," she groaned, splashing him. "You are such a prick."

* * *

Fenris arrived for Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man much too early that day. After his time teaching Hawke to swim in the ocean, he had gone home, bathed and changed his clothes, and almost immediately headed to Lowtown with a book. He had been driving himself to distraction before he'd even arrived home. He couldn't get her out of his head. 

It was different when she was clinging to him in fear or shaking in his arms as she tried to calm herself. Then, he was protecting her, offering her strength and support, grounding her until she regained her senses. This time they had simply come together naturally. She reached out for him as if it had been second nature and he hadn't even thought twice about holding her to him. He could still smell the scent of her skin intermingling with the salt of the sea, hear her panting as she attempted to catch her breath from the exertion, feel the warmth of her form pressed into his chest. 

Maker, she was like _poison._

He sat in the back room of the Hanged Man with his book open in his lap, one ankle over his knee and his chin resting on his knuckles while his other hand drummed his fingers on the table. His attention wasn't on his book; it was focused on a fixed point on the wall as he replayed that morning over and over in his head. 

"Are you _trying_ to drive me insane?" Varric asked, snapping Fenris out of his thoughts. 

"What?"

"With the incessant tapping on the table," the dwarf explained. "I have no problem with you coming early, and in point of fact, I am touched by your enthusiasm for my company, but I'm trying to get some writing done."

"My apologies," he said, turning his attention back to the wall. 

There were a few moments of silence before Varric spoke again. "I don't think I've ever heard those words come out of your mouth in the five years I've known you."

Fenris hummed his agreement, not really paying attention to Varric's words, mentally miles and miles away on the Wounded Coast. 

Varric snapped his journal closed and Fenris turned to look at him. The dwarf regarded him over the rims of his fake spectacles. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do I want to talk about what?"

"Whatever has you in such a state."

"I am in no state."

"Serah, if you were in any more of a state, you'd have your own province in the Free Marches." 

Fenris scoffed and leaned his chin on his knuckles again. He said nothing until he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw that Varric was waiting expectantly. He sighed through his nose and shook his head. 

"I have been teaching Hawke to swim."

"I'm aware," Varric said, his tone indicating he wanted Fenris to continue. 

"It's nothing. The lesson this morning is simply..." He shook his head and sank back in his chair. "I can't seem to get it out of my head."

"What happened?"

"Nothing of any particular importance," Fenris groaned. "I taught her how to swim in the ocean for the first time."

"Wow. You would make, just, a _horrible_ story teller." 

"Considering you think of yourself as a story teller, I will take that as a compliment."

"Come now, Glitter Dust, surely you can do better than that."

"I do not know what you want from me," he defended. "I taught her how to navigate the waves. We swam out a short distance, she held onto me as she has done a _hundred_ times in the past, and then we swam back to shore." 

The smile that spread across Varric's face was as unnerving as it was irritating. 

"She obviously didn't hold onto you the same way she's done those past hundred times, because if she had, I rather doubt you would have mentioned it."

Fenris narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

"Come now," the dwarf encouraged. "You can tell old Varric. Who am I going to tell?"

"Anyone who will listen?" Fenris jeered. 

"I have never told someone else's secrets," Varric replied indignantly, a hand over his heart. "Think of Hawke's gender, her identity even. I would have taken those secrets to my grave, and still will should it never come to light."

He had a point. The things Varric liked to talk about were usually embellishments of their adventures following Hawke. He may have been a horrible gossip, but never about anything of any particular importance to anyone, and in fact was quite good at covering up secrets with a clever tale when his friends needed it.

In the end, Fenris had to tell _someone_ before he drove himself mad. 

"There was nothing inherently different about it," he admitted, shifting in his chair. "Like I said, I have held her up in exactly the same way numerous times when she had needed assistance staying afloat. It was merely the first time she had done it out of habit instead of fear." 

Varric leaned back in his chair, and Fenris could see him rolling that information around in his head. "It was different because you weren't protecting her." 

"I came to a similar conclusion," Fenris said with a shrug. "I do not see what it matters."

"So instead of worrying about whether or not she was alright, you could instead focus your attention on her..." Varric made the figure of a woman with his hands. "Proximity."

"Her... proximity?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes..." Varric said, sounding an awful lot like he was trying to lead a child to an obvious conclusion. "The proximity of her body in relation to yours."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Holy shit," he grumbled. "It means that you had a beautiful woman soaking wet and pressed up against you and you liked it. This isn't exactly unraveling the secrets of Andraste here."

"Do not be daft," Fenris growled, shifting in his chair again. 

"Come now, elf. You're allowed to recognize certain cravings of a base nature. Though I'll admit I was beginning to think that men were your preference from the way you and Blondie are always carrying on."

"I do not have a preference."

"Alright, so you like both. That doesn't—"

"I like _neither,"_ he said through his teeth. 

"Well, that obviously isn't true." Something that looked an awful lot like realization dawned in the dwarf's eyes. "Wait, have you never... are you a vir—"

"This is nonsense," Fenris interrupted, bolting to his feet. "I was a slave and then I was on the run. I haven't the time for dalliances in dark alleys or... whatever it is you do."

"Skipping over the fact that you seem to think that I do what I do in dark alleys," Varric said, pressing his fingertips together and leaning back in his chair, "I can assure you that I don't give a damn about your love life or lack thereof." 

"I should have known better than to speak with you about anything," Fenris growled, turning toward the door.

"Now just hang on a second," Varric called after him. "No reason to get your lyrium in a twist. Come back, I have something to help you."

Fenris stopped in the door and turned on his heel just in time to see Varric disappear into his room. When he came back, he was holding a sheaf of paper and thrust it into Fenris' hand.

"The third issue of _Shadow's Seduction?"_ Fenris asked flatly.

"One of my best," Varric said with a small raise of his chin. "Now, I know how you feel about reading my excellent, albeit lurid, works. So I only want you to read the last chapter of the issue. I believe it starts around page thirty four somewhere. Take it home with you and read it."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because it's going to answer a lot of those questions you've got swimming around in that bag of cats you call your brain." 

Fenris narrowed his eyes. "And if it doesn't?"

"I vow on my honor as a dwarf that I will never tell you another tall tale ever again." He hesitated. "And I'll stop including you in the tall tales when I do tell them."

Fenris ran his tongue along his teeth and looked down at the bunch of paper. He did want his questions answered, and Varric had the uncanny ability to draw conclusions from facts even if they were wildly inaccurate at times. Fenris supposed his only other option was asking Hawke about it directly, and he was in no hurry to make a fool of himself further than he already had. 

He folded the papers in half and tucked them into a satchel on his belt.

"That's the spirit," Varric said, swatting him on the arm. "Now, seeing as how my good deed for the day is done, I need a pint."

* * *

When Fenris had gotten back to his mansion that night, he had already known he was going to read Varric's serial. He told himself he wasn't going to, went about his usual nightly routine as if he weren't going to, only to convince himself that he was too restless to sleep and eventually caved to the inevitable. He removed _Shadow's Seduction_ from his satchel and sat down in his chair by the fire, telling himself that maybe it would help bore him to sleep. 

He made a rather stalwart attempt at starting from the beginning of the serial, but he only got a few pages into the background of the hero before getting bored. His mind wandered to Hawke again, her golden eyes looking at him through the droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes. Fenris shook himself of the reverie and tried to concentrate on Sir Phillip and his torrid past. 

After another page he couldn't take it anymore and skipped to the last chapter like Varric had suggested. 

_Phillip watched her figure through the screen, silhouetted by the candlelight as she shed the heavy cloak. He heard it fall to the floor as the curves of her hips and shoulders were revealed. His muscles snapped to taut, rigid attention, his blood felt molten, as if he were burning from the inside. He could scarcely hear anything other than the pounding of his heart in his ears._

_"Come, Phillip," Shadow purred as she lowered herself onto the plush bed._

_Phillip stepped around the screen and admired the way her raven hair shone gold in the candlelight. He raked his eyes down her form in the sheer dressing gown, from her bright, hungry eyes and trailing all the way down to her toes before starting back up. He could still feel her alabaster skin in his palms, could still taste the brief brush of her lips against his from the night before. He clenched his hands before flexing them out, aching to touch her, the tips of his fingers buzzing from the anticipation alone._

_"Mmm, but I can see that you want me," she crooned, leaning back against the pillows._

_"And so I do," he growled, his voice thick and heavy with desire as he took slow, determined steps toward her. "There's nothing I have ever wanted more."_

_"Is that so?" she asked, one black eyebrow arching. "I was under the impression that pirates take what they want."_

_"You are correct in your assumption, madam," he drawled, wrapping his large hands around her ankles. "But I am a man who delights in savoring his conquests."_

_He slowly slid his hands up the smooth, lithe curves of her calves, his hands rough and calloused against the silken skin. The touch of her in his palms left fire in its wake, and a low, satisfied sound emerged from his mouth unbidden. Maker, how he wanted her. He thought he would die then and there if he was forced to stop touching her._

_Phillip gingerly parted her knees as he lowered himself down on top of her, glorying in the sensation when she eagerly wrapped her legs round his waist and pulled him closer..._

Fenris swallowed audibly and raised his gaze to the flames dancing in the hearth. As ridiculous and melodramatic as the text was, Fenris could not lie to himself. His imagination had jumped straight to Anara. The image of her splayed out on the deep red quilt of her bed, his hands tracing up the skin of her bare legs, caused the same reactions in Fenris that Varric was depicting in Sir Phillip.

His mind wandered to sitting on his roof, Anara's fingers leaving trails of heat along his skin, the feel of her lips on his cheek lingering hours after she'd gone home. He thought of the way she had innocently nuzzled her face into his palm while she slept, and the way the lyrium in his entire arm had burst alight. He thought of all the times her words or her touch had left him in stunned silence, his heart hammering in his chest, his blood rushing in his ears, his shoulders and jaw clenched tight to the point of pain. 

His mind wandered to the ocean. To her deft hands squeezing his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist to hold herself up...

Fenris clenched the papers so hard in his hands that they crumpled, and he seriously contemplated throwing the demandable thing into the fire. Instead he released it and watched as it fluttered to the ground at his feet. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, fighting off the vision of Hawke holding herself against him with her legs. It hadn't even _happened_ that way and yet he couldn't get it out of his head.

Damn that meddling dwarf and his impertinent, unruly imagination. 

Fenris shot to his feet, seeking the comfort of the bracing cold and heading toward the window. The window Anara so often slipped through. The window she would sit in, silhouetted against the light of the sunrise. 

He had never known real friendship. It had been so easy to simply attribute the unfamiliar feelings to navigating the new relationship. Now, he knew better. Now, the emotions could no longer be ignored. He let out a single, bitter laugh. He had been calling her a fool since he'd known her, and yet he was the one to simply allow himself to fall into the trap that desire presented like a lamb being led to slaughter. 

He was the fool. He'd been the fool all along. 

Fenris dropped his face into his palm, trying to let the cool night air calm him. He had to conquer this. He _had_ to.

Varric was never going to let him live it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the wonderful feedback I got from you all. I'm eternally grateful and this story would never have gotten this far without all of your amazing support. I very much love you guys. Thank you!!


	29. The Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I was in Cali all week but luckily had a lot of this chapter written (and planned out) ages ago so all I had to do was tweak and fix and make readable. I hope you guys like this chapter! I've been looking forward to this chapter a long long time! Can't wait to hear what you think! Your comments mean the world to me. <3
> 
> Lovelovelove
> 
> Roarkshop

Fenris slept fitfully well into the next morning and did his best to get the ridiculous revelation out of his head. He polished his armor, read the rest of the book he had started, and even went as far as to clean up his bedroom a little. By sunset he still had no idea what the book was about and his bedroom was still quite the disaster, but his armor was clean. At least he’d managed to do _something._

Once he could no longer busy himself, Fenris played violin. It always helped him clear his head and give his thoughts order. He played roughly, his frustration making the notes jagged and sloppy, but kept playing nonetheless. He had to get his mind right. He didn't pretend to know how to get this new stirring inside of him under control, but he knew he had to do it. Fast. 

He had only recently begun to fully understand the affect Hawke had on him. Coming to terms with their friendship had already been as turbulent as trying to navigate the rapids of a river blindfolded. Now, he had the added complication of knowing that he wanted her. More than that, she _consumed_ him. What a capricious and unfair wretch fate was. Fenris felt as if he'd been thrust into the final rounds of a game to which he had never learned the rules.

What did it even matter? It wasn't as if he was presumptuous enough to believe that she wanted him in return. His desire meant nothing, _changed_ nothing. It was merely another hurdle to jump over, a distraction that needed to be stamped out like a wildfire. He would still fight at her back and offer her his aid; there was no reason for things to change. This yearning, troublesome though it was, certainly wasn't the first foreign emotion that needed conquering. He'd adapted to Hawke's friendship perfectly well, he could avert his desire for her.

He just had to go on as normal, he decided. Assuming the dwarf was capable of being trusted and didn't make an ordeal out of it, Fenris saw no reason that he could not bury this new complication the way he buried all the other unpleasant truths in his life. Desire was just another part of being free that he was going to have to learn to deal with. He had always prided himself on his uncanny self-mastery that kept his emotions hidden away and his expression unreadable. The only thing Fenris had ever found to be uncontrollable was his rage, and that was only when Danarius would force the issue. He governed nearly every facet of his personality with the same cold, unyielding logic that he used on everything else; there was no reason this would be any different. 

He exhaled and finished playing with a high, sour note before finally lowering the violin from his shoulder. 

"Something the matter?" Hawke asked.

The sound of her voice nearly made him jump out of his skin as he whirled around. "Hagh! _Zava Temptus,"_ he sneered breathlessly, brandishing his bow like a sword. "Don't _do_ that. Where did you even come from?"

"The window?" she said from where she was sitting on his sofa. She tilted her head to the side and smiled. Fenris thought she looked rather amused at having gotten the drop on him. "I only just arrived. I wasn't even sneaky, Fenris."

"You are _always_ sneaky," he growled, putting his bow and violin back. He hadn't even recognized the feeling in his stomach that usually told him she was nearby. He figured his stomach was already plenty uneasy, allowing her presence to go completely unnoticed.

"Are you alright?" she asked, folding her arms over the book in her lap and leaning forward on it. "I'm never able to sneak up on you. Not to mention that you were playing like you were trying to saw your violin in half."

"I'm fine," he said curtly, desperately trying to ignore the tilt of her chin and the curve of her throat. "Perhaps I am merely fed up with you barging in through my window instead of using the door properly."

She was obviously taken aback by his words, but he held firm. He couldn't very well let her know the real reason he was so agitated, and now that he was looking at her, it all hit him in fuller force; the shape of her calves in her tight trousers, the way her vest hugged her curves, the way the neckline of her vest exposed the edges of her collarbones. They were things he'd seen a million times, but it had never really _meant_ anything until now. The more he looked at her, however, the more and more everything about her seemed like torture.

"You mean to tell me that I’ve been coming through your window for five years and now is the moment it has begun to annoy you?”

"Perhaps it has always annoyed me," he countered, crossing his arms. "Perhaps I have always disliked the lack of privacy I'm allotted by never knowing when or from where you will be pouncing next."

"Fenris," she said, putting the book down on the sofa and standing. "I saw you at Wicked Grace last night and you were perfectly amiable walking me home. So forgive me if I'm fairly certain that I haven't done anything in the twenty hours since I last saw you to make you upset. What is this really about?"

"If something _is_ the matter, then it is none of your concern," he barked, feeling the anger take over the frustration because it was comforting and familiar. "Maybe it is time you stop meddling in my affairs."

"Meddling?" she asked, shaking her head. "Fenris, I'm just trying—"

"Must you always be involved? Am I not allowed any privacy?"

"Of course you are, Fenris, but you're obviously upset with something," she said, taking another step toward him. "And if it truly is me, I'd like to know so that I can fix it."

"You cannot fix everything, Hawke," he jeered. "You cannot save everyone."

The way her eyebrows upturned made him hate himself, which only made him more furious. 

"You and your friendships," he muttered, feeling his lyrium starting to react to the combination of her proximity and his anger. "What do you know in the first place? You know _nothing_ of my troubles. "

She reached out to press her hand against his chest, and even though the contact was through his tunic, the lyrium on his chest still reacted. He clenched his hands into fists as if it was going to bite it down. He had to rein it in, had to keep a tight grip on his control. The muscles of his shoulders tensed painfully and he could hear himself forcing out hard breaths through his nose as he stared down at her, attempting to be every bit the foreboding and unruly thing Danarius had painted him as.

"I may not know many things," she admitted softly, looking up into his eyes, "but I know this isn't like you."

"Damn it, woman, _you do not know me,"_ he snarled, the rest of his markings bursting alight so that even his eyes burned the ominous pale blue. _"You do not know what I am!"_

There was a long bout of silence as they stood there staring at each other. Fenris could see the obvious confusion and hurt in Hawke's eyes, and it took every bit of strength he possessed not to reach for her. He needed distance, he needed her to step back, he needed to get away from her. Yet it seemed that the harder he pushed her away, the tighter she held on. He wondered what he’d done to earn such loyalty, or if it was just her kind, foolish nature.

He could see the glow of his lyrium on her face, and while her concern was obvious, she did not back down. She was as stony and immovable as he was trying to be. The slightest shift of her expression, perhaps a change in the light of her eyes, told him that she had made a decision of some kind. Before he could say anything else hurtful, she slid her hand up his chest and closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a hug. He could feel one of her hands on his shoulder and the other on the back of his head, holding him close. He froze, hands rigid fists at his sides, lyrium buzzing across every inch of his skin. The length of her body pressed against his and he could feel the beat of her heart and smell the scent of her skin. He felt like he'd suddenly burst aflame. 

"Anara..." he tried to protest, but it almost sounded like a plea.

“I _do_ know you, Fenris,” she said softly, a tenderness in her tone that he didn’t deserve. “I know you, and you don’t scare me.”

The storm in his chest calmed so abruptly that it knocked the wind out of him. His lyrium dulled and his rage dissipated as if she had reached inside of him and pulled it out by force. Without even thinking, he wrapped his arms around her like she was a lifeline, one around her waist and his other hand pressing between her shoulder blades. He tucked his face into the curve of her shoulder and held onto her like she would disappear if he didn’t. She felt so _good_ against him, like a puzzle piece that he'd never known had been missing.

As if sensing his desperation, she tightened her grip around his neck and lifted up onto her toes, holding him more firmly. It wasn't going to be as simple as ignoring this new emotion. He would feel it every time he looked at her now; every innocent touch or affectionate smile, every time she tucked her hair behind her ear or laughed. Any chance he’d had of ignoring these new feelings rampaging through him evaporated the moment she’d stepped into his arms. He was doomed, he realized.

And there was no going back. 

So, he held her. He held her because he wanted to so fiercely. He rarely let himself have anything he truly wanted, and _Maker,_ did he want this. Maybe just this once, he could reach out for his happiness. Maybe just... for a little while. 

"I am sorry," he said finally, calming as he felt her gentle fingers in his hair. He exhaled a hard breath and felt it bounce off of her skin. Reluctantly, he pulled away, not enough to completely let go of her, just enough so that his hands found natural purchase on her hips. Her hands ended up on his shoulders as she looked up at him. It wasn’t all that different from the way he held her in the water, and yet it couldn’t possibly have been _more_ different. 

"It's alright," she said, offering him that same kind smile of hers. 

"No, it isn’t.” He swallowed the unusual lump in his throat. “I cannot keep taking my… frustrations out on you. You deserve better.”

She laughed a little bit and shook her head, reaching up to move a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "There is no better than you," she admitted softly.

He said nothing. What could possibly have been his reply? His only response was the tightening of his hands on her hips and the flexing of his jaw. His mind raced for something to say, but per usual his conversational skills proved less than adequate and all he could think about was pulling her into his chest again.

"Come on,” she said, motioning her head toward his chair and pulling away. “If we're not going to have another heartfelt talk, I'm not letting you out of your reading lesson."

Fenris was simultaneously relieved and disappointed when she stepped out of his hands and changed the subject. He wasn’t yet equipped to handle the implications of what these new emotions meant for him. He didn’t know if he ever would be.

“You know,” he said as he followed her to his chair. "It is hardly a lesson any longer."

"Semantics."

* * *

_'I have no desire to explore the Fade,'_ had been what Fenris said when Hawke asked him to accompany her. Yet it had only taken the slightest shift in her features, the subtlest hint of disappointment before he'd added, _'But if you need me, I will go.'_

So much for his uncanny self-mastery and will power. 

Now, as he stood in an ever shifting room, looking back and forth between his comrades who now looked like elves and mages to his eyes, he was beginning to resent his inability to deny Hawke. 

He didn't know why she had wanted him there in the first place. He was the last person interested in helping Feynriel and, in fact, had originally wanted to send the half-breed mage to the Circle rather than let him hide within the Dalish. Now that the boy had become a dreamer – a dangerous mage who could control the Fade while he slept – all Fenris really had to say on the matter had been a resounding 'I told you so'. 

Keeper Marethari put them into a deep sleep, and into the Fade they went. It was a world of dreams where demons held sway and could see into the very heart of a person, and it was the _last_ place Fenris wanted to be. He was in no hurry to play fast and loose with temptation; he had been doing enough of that these days. 

Immediately upon entering the Fade, they were confronted with a demon of sloth, and while Varric had seemed intrigued by the proposal it offered, Hawke made a point of refusing it for him. The demon attacked them once it was clear that they would not accept a deal, and once they successfully felled it, Hawke smacked Varric upside the head and told him to get his head on straight. If he was going to act as their leader, they needed him to have a little more sense than to think he could negotiate with demons. 

And that had only been the beginning.

Now, as Fenris looked down at himself and at his friends, all he saw were strangers. While Varric had been turned into First Enchanter Orsino, Fenris, Hawke, and Merrill had turned into seemingly miscellaneous townsfolk. Fenris found himself playing a part in some nonsensical farce to get Feynriel to come to his senses. Suffice it to say, he was none too pleased. 

Something – a demon presumably – was pretending to be Keeper Marethari and attempting to convince Feynriel that he was the savior of the Dalish in order to get him to surrender his power. At least, that’s what Fenris thought was happening; he was much too concerned with the fact that he was suddenly wearing mage robes to really pay attention.

"Feynriel, you’re already a freak," Varric-as-Orsino said. "Don’t be a _dumb_ freak. That's a demon and you're asleep. Come to your senses so I can get out of this dress."

"Subtle," said the elf man that used to be Hawke. 

"I'm not used to being this tall," Varric grumbled. "It's giving me a complex."

"As if you had a skill for subtlety when you were short," Fenris offered, cringing when his voice came out a lilting, effeminate tone.

Feynriel managed to come to his senses and call out the demon, thereby ending the demon's little scene. Fenris was pleasantly surprised; perhaps all was not lost for the boy. 

As the dreamer ran from the room, the facade surrounding them all quickly melted away in a sea of light. Where the form of the Keeper had once stood now towered a demon of pride, tall as a building. Everyone looked down at themselves and sighed with relief to see they were back in their own skins again.

 **"With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have changed the world!"** the demon bellowed. 

"You're a demon," Varric said, as if that explained everything. "Why would he side with you?"

 **"Those who are free to choose always want power. You think your friends are different? You think this elf, with her innocent face, would turn down a demon's offer?"** The demon turned to Merrill just as the elf started to step forward. **"How about it? Would you take what I offered the boy? Scion of the Dalish, savior of Elvenkind?"**

"Can you... do that?" Merrill asked, tilting her head to the side in that way she did. 

"Merrill," Hawke warned. 

**"I am the greatest of my kind!"** the demon crowed. **"Whatever tricks your little pet has taught you will pale in comparison."**

"Daisy," Varric said, turning to her. "Not even ten minutes ago, you told me demons don't always keep their promises. Don't tell me you're going to buy this crap."

"I..." she shook her head as she stared up at the demon. 

"Merrill, don't do this," Hawke pleaded, putting a hand on Merrill's arm. 

When Merrill turned to look at Hawke, her eyes were glowing red. 

"I cannot put you ahead of the fate of my people," Merrill said, pulling her staff off of her back.

Hawke just barely managed to duck out of the way when Merrill swung the staff in an arc. They dodged fireballs and flying boulders for what seemed like an eternity, both Varric and Hawke trying to shout at Merrill and shake her from the trance. No matter how much they yelled, no matter how they pleaded or shook her, the mage would not respond. Fenris had seen possession like this before in Tevinter, and he knew that Merrill’s conscious mind was gone and that there was no going back. Perhaps if Merrill had been the only problem, Fenris would have been more patient and let Varric and Hawke figure out that she was unreachable on their own. As it was, the pride demon was attacking with her and it packed a powerful punch. 

"Enough of this," Fenris growled, charging up behind Merrill as her attention was focused on Hawke. He swung his sword in a fast arc and decapitated her. It was quick and painless, and the second the sword cleaved through her skin, her form faded away as if she’d been made of nothing more than fog.

 _"What are you doing?"_ Hawke shouted.

"The Keeper said we will wake up if killed," Fenris snapped. "We are wasting time.”

"Uh, I could use a rescue here," Varric shouted just before getting thrown to the other side of the room by the pride demon.

* * *

"So," Varric said as they made their way out of the chamber. "Does that mean that, when the Keeper lectured us on temptation, she _wasn't_ flirting with me?"

"Maker," Hawke groaned. "Do shut up." 

They had successfully defeated the pride demon, but now they were down a team member. Merrill had probably woken up in the Alienage where they had been put into the dream state by the Keeper, and Fenris rather wished it was his turn. He did not like it here and was all too eager to get out. 

"I should have known better," Hawke said softly as they walked. "I already knew that Merrill made use of blood magic. I should never have brought her here."

"Well, at least you learned something," Fenris said, only half teasing.

Hawke glared at him. 

"Well," Varric said, raising a hand to push open the next door. "Here goes nothing."

Again the reality melted away in a burst of bright white, and Fenris watched as Varric turned into Feynriel's mother right before his eyes. 

"You have got to be shitting me," Varric cursed, though the words came out the feminine, husky purr of Feynriel's mother. If Fenris hadn't also been turned into a woman, he might have laughed.

The demon had taken the form of Feynriel's human father and was trying to convince the boy to run off to Antiva with him and join in the family business. It didn't take long for Feynriel to realize it was a trick when his mother started spewing Varric's rather colorful vulgarities. Fenris decided it was as good a tactic as any.

When the demon's facade melted away, a desire demon revealed herself, mostly nude except for the usual conveniently placed chains. Fenris was glad to see the illusion surrounding them all fade away, but he was incredibly wary of the desire demon. He had no misconceptions about his recent vulnerability to this particular temptation.

 _"You,"_ the demon said, eyeing Varric critically. _"You turned him against me."_

"Me? No. I was trying to help you. Honest.” 

_"Take away my pets,”_ she purred, _"and I'll take away yours. How loyal are these friends you've dragged into the fade?"_

Fenris put his shoulders back and attempted to bolster his willpower, already wording his scathing retort in his mind. He took a steadying breath and clenched his jaw, trying to look like the unyielding force he needed to be. 

... But the demon didn't address him. 

_"You think your silent assassin would deny that which she wants most?"_ the demon lilted seductively. _"You think she would refuse the opportunity for her own happiness?"_

Fenris breathed a sigh of relief and turned to see Hawke sinking back into a hip and crossing her arms. 

"Let me guess," Hawke sighed, sounding bored. "You're going to bring my family back? Get Bethany out of the Circle? Bring my father and brother back to life? Don't waste your breath, demon."

 _"Oh, no, little songbird,"_ the demon crooned, approaching Hawke and running her fingertips along the rogue's masked jaw as she circled her. _"I can see into the darkest chamber of your soul. I know what your heart truly craves."_

Hawke rolled her eyes. "What could I possibly want more than my—"

 _"Anara!"_ came Fenris' voice. Everyone's attention snapped to the other side of the room where Fenris was cuffed to the wall. He was shirtless and bloodied, an iron collar around his throat that was attached to the wall by a chain. One of his hands was tugging on the collar, the other was reaching out for her. 

Fenris looked down at himself as if to confirm that he was very much still standing with his comrades and _not_ shirtless, chained to the wall. When he looked back up only to see the phantom of himself, his mind raced as it tried to figure out what was going on. 

"Oh, shit," Varric groaned, putting his face in his hand. 

"Fenris?" Hawke asked, hesitantly making her way to it and sliding her hood down.

"What? No, Anara that isn't—" Fenris covered his mouth when he realized the voice coming out of it wasn't his, but a hard, gravely sound not unlike the pride demon’s.

"Did the demon do this?" Hawke asked, pulling her mask down and starting to dig for her lock picks. "This damned place. Don't worry, I'll... I'll get you out of here." 

"It is no use," it said, taking her hands and pressing them flat against its bare chest. "I am bound by magic. Your tricks have no power here."

"How did this happen?" she asked, shaking her head and spreading her fingers against the specter's chest. "Fenris I... I'm sorry, we were just..."

"This is not your fault," the impostor said, taking her face in its hands. "Do not blame yourself. Not now that I need you the most. Release me."

"How?" she asked. "I-I have no magic, I—"

"Remove those responsible and I'll be free," he said, running his thumb along her bottom lip as their faces grew closer and closer together. "Only then can we be together."

"But... Fenris, no. The demon..."

"I think it is time you get what you want," the thing rumbled in Fenris’ voice, combing its fingers back through her hair so her pony-tail came loose. "You have sacrificed enough. I cannot bear to watch it any longer."

"But—"

"Release me, Anara," it purred, cradling the back of her head, tilting her face up and closing the space between them. "Release me and I will be yours."

The moment that Fenris realized it was about to kiss her was the moment he lost his grip on his barely restrained rage. 

**"Get away from her!"** Fenris roared, his voice booming across the space as he launched toward them. 

Hawke turned and wheeled on him, her eyes burning and crimson just as Merrill's had been. The sight stopped Fenris in his tracks.

"No," he said to himself, but he already knew she was lost.

"This... may not end well for us," Varric said, already taking a step back. 

"Be quick," Fenris growled, taking his sword from his back and stepping backward away from her. "If we waste time trying to talk her down, she will take us out quickly and be trapped here." 

Hawke, eyes burning and teeth bared, pulled her daggers off of her back as she took slow steps toward them. 

_"That's it, my pet,"_ the desire demon crooned, tracing her hand along Hawke's shoulders from behind her. _"Get rid of them.”_

Hawke spun her daggers in her hands, her upper lip curling back.

 _“Kill them, Hawke,”_ the desire demon purred into her ear. _“Kill them and your beloved will be yours."_

Fenris froze. "Wait, her what?"

"Not really the best time, elf."

Hawke snarled through her teeth and launched herself at Varric, and Fenris lunged in front of the dwarf to engage her. He knew damned well that Varric had no chance of keeping up with Hawke. If they were all going to get out of this nightmare, Fenris was their only chance. 

For all the good it would do them. 

He had never fought Hawke at her full speed. The only time he and Hawke had ever sparred, he'd been wounded and she had been trying to teach him a lesson. Fenris only ever witnessed Hawke giving her all when she was at his back, not coming at him. Now, she wasn't only attacking him with full power, she was enraged on top of it. If this was what their enemies always saw, it was no wonder she managed to end their fights before they even begun. 

She was like a hurricane made flesh.

Hawke's strikes were too fast, and she was much too agile. His wide, slow swings were easily dodged, and it wasn't long before she landed a kick to his stomach that doubled him over and sent his sword crashing to the ground. Fenris managed to catch her legs as she came at him and threw her back over his shoulders, sending her tumbling to the floor. She regained her footing much too quickly, and Fenris had to turn and sprint for his sword. He slid across the ground just in time to snatch it up and roll onto his back, bringing the halberd up across his chest to deflect a blow as Hawke came down on top of him. 

He managed to catch her wrist and get his feet up on her chest. He pushed with all his strength, launching her up and over his head, forcing her to careen toward the wall. He dropped his sword and swept up the blade she dropped, forsaking strength in favor of speed, and wasn’t surprised when he saw Hawke kick off the wall and come right back at him like a boomerang. 

If she wasn't trying to kill him, he would have spared a moment to be impressed.

Varric finished taking down the desire demon and, with only the one target to concentrate on, his shots quickly became more accurate. Just in time, too, because no matter how good Fenris was, he would never be fast enough to keep up with Hawke. She had already sliced a few gashes in his arms and sides and bloodied his nose; he was quickly losing ground.

It wasn’t much longer before Hawke disarmed Fenris and pinned him up against the wall. She pulled back her dagger for the finishing blow, and before Fenris could even think to try and say something to bring her back, Varric put an arrow through her shoulder. She roared in pain and whirled around to face the dwarf and Fenris wasted no time in reaching for the dagger he knew was concealed in her boot.

"Forgive me," he said softly, wrapping an arm around her throat and sliding the dagger between her shoulder blades. She screamed and, just like Merrill had, vanished into thin air.

Fenris dropped to all fours, then rolled onto his back, panting and bloodied. There was nothing but the sound of Fenris and Varric's hard breathing for long minutes. 

Varric cleared his throat. _“Awkward.”_


	30. The Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN: So people have begun live-tweeting as they read the new chapters and I have found it incredibly enjoyable. If you would like to join: #OandA**
> 
> **I'll be reading them all!**
> 
> **I have been working non-stop on this chapter. I had it planned out for so long but actually making it come to fruition was a feat (Plus I worked a lot and it was crazy and lots of keymashing happened). I really hope you guys like this chapter and I can't wait to hear what you think.**
> 
> ****Thank you again for all your kindness and feedback. It gets me through the roughest parts of the weeks, honestly it does. I love you guys.** **
> 
> ******Lovelovelove  
>  **Roarkshop**** ** **
> 
> * * *
> 
> ************ ** **

_Forgive me._

Hawke bolted upright in the cot, covered in a sheen of sweat under all her armor as her chest pumped with her furious breaths. She blinked unseeingly a few times before reaching behind her as if to check that Fenris hadn't actually put a knife between her shoulders. She could still _feel_ the sting of the blade, could still hear Fenris' apology.

Thank the Maker it had been a dream. 

As she looked around and realized she was still in the cottage in the Alienage, the tiny whisper of alarm in her stomach exploded into a tornado of dread.

Fenris and Varric were still asleep. 

Varric was horizontal in his chair, one leg hanging over the arm, the other hanging off of the seat and not quite touching the ground. Fenris had his arms crossed against his chest and his head bowed, leaning to one side in the chair as his legs were splayed out gracelessly. 

It had all happened. She'd been tricked and now... now Fenris would know everything. 

She put her hands on her head and her breathing quickly grew frantic. Maybe... Maybe he wouldn't remember. Maybe once he awoke, he would forget everything that happened in the Fade.

And if he _did_ remember? If he remembered how she'd been putty in the hands of a demon because it _looked_ like Fenris? If he remembered how easily her feelings for him had been manipulated? If he remembered the way she'd succumbed once the demon told her he would be hers if she complied? 

Hawke covered her masked face with her hands, her breathing panicked and uneven. What could she possibly say? How could she possibly talk her way out of this? She looked back up at Fenris' unconscious form leaning in the chair and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. He knew everything. He knew everything and now she was going to have to hear him reject her. She could already hear his polite refusal in her head, already see his awkwardness around her. Everything was ruined. What was she supposed to do?

She ran. 

She didn't stop to hear whatever Merrill tried to say from the front room as she sprinted from the cottage. She didn't even spare a glance to Feynriel's mother or Keeper Marethari. She bolted from the cottage so fast, the door almost came off its hinges. 

It had been more than a decade since this happened. More than ten years since she last had to hear it, and yet the words still stung her. 

_I am sorry, Songbird. I did not think these were your feelings. Had I known I might have... made myself clear from the beginning._

She had been different then: young and foolish and trusting. She had vowed never to make that mistake again. She had _promised_ herself. 

Damn her, Fenris had _told_ her he didn't want to go into the fade. If she had just left him behind like he'd wanted none of this would be happening. She wouldn't be running the horrible nightmare over and over in her head, she wouldn't be torturing herself with his inevitable rejection, she wouldn't have to watch their friendship become a shambles.

_I am very grateful for our friendship, Anara._

She remembered the words so clearly, remembered the tenor of his voice and the softness in his eyes. It had been the first time Fenris had addressed her by her first name. It had sent chills down her spine and she'd been thankful he hadn't noticed at the time. Now... now he knew everything. Now he would recall memories in a new light. Would he think she had ulterior motives for teaching him to read? Would he look at her loyalty and friendship these past years as a means to an end? Would he think she'd been trying to use him? Lord, he was going to _hate_ her.

She ran harder than she had since Bethany was taken to the Circle, fighting the sting in her eyes and the ache in her chest. She couldn't face him. Not now. 

Maybe not ever.

* * *

By the time Varric and Fenris managed to catch up to Feynriel, Fenris was not even remotely paying attention to the conversation. In that moment, there was nothing he cared about _less_ than the fate of Feynriel. 

The desire demon had used _Fenris_ to turn Hawke against them. 

It was only now that Hawke was safe, now that their task was nearing completion and he had time to really think on what had happened, that the implications of what took place started to sink in. 

_That which she wants most._

_Release me and I will be yours._

_Your beloved._

The words echoed through his head over and over. He tried to find some other explanation, tried to dismiss it as Hawke being tempted by a desire for his safety, but it was no use. The words kept sweeping across his mind, solidifying his theory that this was no simple friendship between them. No matter what he did, he couldn't get the image of her out of his head, melting into the arms of a demon because she thought it was him, allowing its hands on her face and in her hair, yielding to its touch and bending her head back. 

She didn't just want him, he realized. There had to be more. His experience with his own desire was limited, but it had to be something much more powerful than _lust_ to get the likes of Hawke to concede to a demon. She was the only person he knew who had a will that could battle his own. No, there was something much deeper stirring in Hawke than Fenris had dared realize. 

What the devil did he do about it? 

He was so distracted by the potential ramifications that he didn't even hear the outcome Varric had decided with Feynriel. Next thing he knew, he was shooting awake in the chair he'd been put to sleep in.

His hand flew to his face, checking for blood from where Hawke had broken his nose, but it was as if it had never happened. He turned to see Varric rolling out his neck from the awkward position he'd ended up sleeping in. They made brief, understanding eye contact before Merrill came into the room and shut the door behind her. 

"Oh good, you're both awake," she said, sounding much too cheerful for Fenris' mood. "I don't suppose either of you are going to tell me what happened?" 

"The boy is going to Tevinter," Varric said. 

"What?!" Fenris and Merrill asked in unison.

Varric eyed Fenris critically. "What the hell are you confused about? You were there."

Fenris answered Varric's question with a quelling glare that earned him a bored eye roll from the dwarf. He didn't feel like explaining why he hadn't been paying attention.

"I'm not talking about Feynriel," Merrill said, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm talking about Hawke."

"What about her?" Fenris asked, standing slowly and arching an eyebrow. 

"Well, she woke up and ran out the house so fast, I'm surprised the ground didn't _burst_ aflame under her feet," Merrill said with a laugh. "Poor dear, she looked frightfully pale. I mean, I didn't see much of her but she seemed like she'd been in quite a panic."

Fenris clenched his jaw when he saw Varric look at him out of the corner of his eye, but chose to stay silent. He looked at the cot Hawke had been put to sleep on and tried to picture her shooting awake, dreading the reaction to what had happened. He remembered everything clearly; and the empty cot told him that she did, too.

She had fled. Hawke, who had probably never run from a fight in her life, sprinted out of the Alienage rather than confront him. That was the only explanation. Otherwise she would have stayed. She would have wanted to know what had happened to Feynriel. She would have seen it through to the end like always.

Hawke, the bravest person he had ever known, fled from the cottage — from the _mission_ — at the thought of Fenris confronting her about her feelings.

"Damnation," he cursed as he dashed from the house and out of the Alienage. Varric could explain what happened to Merrill and the Keeper if he so chose. It was none of Fenris' concern. 

He had to find Anara. 

The dwarf who answered the door at her estate said that she'd never returned from that morning, which didn't necessarily mean that she _wasn't_ home, but her light wasn't on and she wasn't on her rooftop either. When she wasn't at the Hanged Man, Fenris felt something rather cold and hard settle in the pit of his stomach.

She didn't _want_ him to find her. 

He swallowed the emotion down before turning to head home, sparing another glance at Hawke's window as he went. If she was actively avoiding him, Fenris knew there was little point in looking for her. Trying to find Anara Hawke when she didn't want to be found was like hunting an arctic hare in a blizzard. She specialized in making herself invisible and he doubted the Maker himself could find her if she was determined to stay hidden. 

Just like with hunting, patience was his only option.

He knew sleep wouldn't be coming to him anytime soon; there were too many questions buzzing through his mind, too many things he needed explained. He deposited himself in a chair at the small table where they would occasionally play chess together. The pieces were still scattered from their last game, and Fenris picked up the black queen from where it was sitting next to the rest of her pieces that he'd taken. He sank back in the chair and propped up his elbow, holding the piece upright and turning it in his fingers. 

_Release me, Anara,_ the demon had said. _Release me and I will be yours._

Fenris exhaled a hard breath through his nose, shaking his head. She had to know that he understood what had happened, that was the only explanation he could think of for her to avoid him. Was his acknowledgement of her feelings so terrifying to her? Why? He hadn't exactly been eager to tell Hawke of his own feelings, but not because he was uncertain of _her._ It was more that he had only begun to understand them and hadn't wanted to burden her. 

No, that wasn't quite right either. The idea of revealing his feelings to her opened up the idea of her kindly admitting she felt nothing for him. That hadn't been a thought he enjoyed entertaining, and he'd bitten it all down. 

It had been a week since he realized he felt more for her than friendship, a week since she wrapped her arms around his neck and told him she wasn't afraid of him. A week since every touch and smile she gave him sent his thoughts into upheaval. 

Was it the same for her? Did she sneak glimpses at him when he wasn't looking? Did the feeling of his arms around her make her burn? Did she hear her own heart beating when he said her name? 

The thoughts alone made the muscles in his shoulders grow tense, and he closed the black queen in his fist and held it tightly. 

Even if it was true, what did he do about it? He knew nothing of courtship except for what he'd seen in Tevinter. All he knew of intimacy was what he'd seen Danarius _take_ from men and women, and even some children. That was hardly an example he was willing to rely upon. He supposed he also had Varric's torrid serials, but he wasn't sure that was a particularly reliable source either. 

_Kill them and your beloved will be yours._

Fenris slammed the chess piece into the middle of the board and sent a few pieces clattering to the floor. He would have been able to overlook most of it. Would have been able to assume his safety had been the problem, could have excused it all as her usual foolish need to protect any and everyone who was close to her... if it hadn't been for that _word._

Beloved.

Fenris couldn't get it out of his head. It haunted him. It whispered across his mind every time he closed his eyes. He didn't exactly know what the word meant, but something in his gut told him it was important. Something told him he needed to find out.

While he continued to think himself around in circles, it all mattered little if she had decided she never wanted to confront the situation. He knew very well that as long as she wanted to avoid him, his questions would go unanswered. What was more, if she was so unnerved by the idea of Fenris confronting her on it, he was tempted to let it lie. He didn't want her to be uncomfortable because of him, and he certainly didn't want her to keep her distance.

He hoped she didn't avoid him for long, but until she decided to reveal herself, he knew he simply had to go about his days as normally as possible. Perhaps she only needed to sleep, to ferret out the dilemma on her own before she sought him out. He hoped so.

Until then, Fenris knew his nights would be restless.

* * *

It was four days before Hawke finally went to see Fenris, and it certainly hadn't been because she'd _wanted_ to. Funny how a midnight ambush could get in the way of her plans to crawl in a hole and never come out. 

She made her way across Hightown swiftly before climbing up Fenris' mansion and in through his window. She crept across his bedroom to where he slept, more than a little nonplussed that he was shirtless. It wasn't like he was expecting company, but still, she didn't need the distraction. 

Like he always did, he began stirring before she even reached his side, and she managed to get her hand over his mouth before he fully woke up. Regardless of the events of the Fade, she was satisfied by the fact that Fenris didn't start or recoil. He'd known it was her before even opening his eyes, and he responded to her hand against his mouth only by blinking up at her in silent question.

"An ambush is coming," she whispered, so quietly she barely heard it herself. "Get ready."

He nodded once under her hand, so she released him and backed away, relieved when he didn't say anything and simply got up to do as he was told. Hawke put fresh poison on her blades, making her way to the next bedroom over to step onto his balcony, making sure she stayed in the shadow of the doorway where she couldn't be seen. 

The twelve hunters hadn't been far behind her. She saw them come through the Hightown archway and went back out onto the landing of Fenris' stairs. She jumped up onto the railing of the stairs, perching on the balls of her feet as she waited for Fenris. She heard him come out of his bedroom behind her, and she turned around to silently ask him if he was ready. A thrill went through her when he smiled at her. 

The hunters burst through the front door, and Hawke jumped into the shadows of the hall, leaving Fenris at the top of the stairs. She climbed up over the doorway to the parlor and waited for all twelve of the hunters to file in. 

"There he is!" one crowed, pointing up at Fenris. "Everyone in here!" 

Fenris took his sword off his back. "Would you like to know the biggest mistake you made this evening?" 

"Shut up, slave," another hunter barked.

"Make sure to take him alive," the leader demanded. 

"Ambushing me I understand," Fenris said, spinning his sword idly and resting the blade on his shoulder, buying Hawke the time she needed to get into position. "Your mistake was coming under the cover of darkness."

Hawke sliced through the Achilles tendons of two of the hunters, sending them to the floor screaming before she embedded her poisoned blades into the backs of two others. Just as the hunters started to realize someone else was in the room, Hawke leaped out of range back into the shadows.

While the hunters tried to locate Hawke, Fenris jumped down over the railing of the stairs, landing on his feet with a loud _thud_ that drew the attention of the hunters again. His lyrium burst aglow as he stood his full height, sword resting idly on his shoulder. Hawke made her way behind him before coming around, spinning her blades in her hands as she stood at his side.

She spared a moment to think that it was all becoming much too easy for the two of them. 

When Hawke and Fenris lunged into the fray, the hunters were already trying to back out. With the two of them together the ambush might as well have been target practice. Fenris had the sharper eyesight, but Hawke was all but invisible in the darkness. The hunters really couldn't have picked a worse scenario to ambush him in. Hawke was only glad she'd managed to warn him in time. 

It was all efficient and clean as the two of them dispatched the remaining hunters, silencing the screams of the men still struggling on the ground. As she cleaned her daggers she realized that she hadn't even got any of their blood on her clothes.

"How did you know they were coming?" Fenris asked, beginning to go through the belongings of the corpses.

"Varric got word about a ship from the Imperium docking a day or two ago," she explained, glancing over a letter that the leader had on him. "I had been looking into it earlier tonight when I found them on the Wounded Coast. They have a large encampment out there and I had thought they might just be fortune hunters or something, but a group broke off and made way for the city. I followed and heard them talking about Danarius. Once I knew they were after you, I rushed ahead." 

"How many were in the encampment?"

"After this group left, upwards of twenty, but I can't be sure. I followed the ambush before I lost sight of them."

"Still. More than we should attempt to take on our own," he confirmed.

"We'll wait until morning. They probably aren't expecting this group back tonight anyhow. We will take them by surprise and hopefully get the drop on Danarius."

"I doubt that he is with them," Fenris said, and Hawke thought it odd that he didn't seem disappointed. "He is far too proud to simply camp in the sands of the coast." 

There was a long silence as she watched him sort through another hunter's belongings. 

"I'm sorry, Fenris," she finally said. 

He looked up at her from where he was crouched on the ground, one arm over his knee. "Why?"

"Because he's come after you again," she said, thinking it had been obvious. "It's been so long, I know that you had begun to hope he'd given up."

That didn't seem to be the answer he had wanted, because his jaw firmed and he shook his head as he returned to what he'd been doing. "It will be over soon enough," he said softly. 

The silence between them had a terrible tension, and she finally strapped her daggers onto her back and stood.

"Well, come on," she said, pulling her mask and hood down, "you obviously can't stay here tonight."

"What?"

She tilted her head in confusion. "You can't sleep here," she repeated. "They could still send another group. What's more, there are corpses everywhere."

"It would hardly be the first time I slept in a house full of dead," he countered as he stood.

"Alright. Disturbing, but my first point remains valid." She motioned a hand for him to follow her. "Come on. You'll stay in my spare bedroom for the night. We can have Aveline deal with the corpses in the morning before we leave for the Wounded Coast." 

"You don't have to do that," he said, and when Hawke turned around, she realized he'd made no attempt to follow her. 

She swallowed, and before the pain could show in her face, she laughed. "Well, it's your choice," she said with a shrug. She didn't think he was so repulsed by her feelings that he'd rather sleep with corpses than under the same roof as her. "I know you probably aren't _eager_ to sleep in my home, but I can't imagine it's less pleasant than the smell of blood and the threat of an ambush. But do as you wish."

"Do not mistake me," he said, taking a few steps toward her. "I am grateful, but I do not wish to trouble you." 

She arched one eyebrow and smiled. "Much too late for that, don't you think?"

* * *

This had been a terrible idea. 

Fenris was standing on Anara's balcony while she bustled around in the next room, preparing a bed for him. She hadn't wanted to wake the servants, so she told him to wait in her room while she saw to it herself. 

It was the first time he'd seen her since the Fade. He was certain that she would have still been avoiding him if it hadn't been for Danarius' ambush. Four days he'd been waiting for her to show herself, preparing what he'd say in his mind only for it to go completely blank now that he had his chance. He found he barely even _cared_ about the ambush. They would handle it. They always did. 

He put his hands on the railing of her balcony and leaned heavily into his shoulders. What could he possibly say? Could he simply thank her for the rescue and jump straight into confronting her about the Fade? Did he even _want_ to confront her? Fenris laughed bitterly through his nose. Had four days of silence made him a coward?

Anara snapped him out of his reverie. "Your room is ready," she said sweetly from inside. 

"Thank you," he said without turning around, keeping his eyes on his mansion just across the courtyard. He heard her sigh and step out onto the balcony behind him. 

"We will handle the hunters in the morning, Fenris," she promised. "You need to rest. Don't... drive yourself crazy thinking about Danarius." 

"Would it interest you to know that I'm not, in fact, thinking about Danarius?"

"Oh?" she asked with a small laugh. "What _are_ you thinking about? Getting the blood stains out of your linens?"

"I have been thinking of you," he said, turning his head just enough to see her outline behind him. "I have been able to think of little else." 

When all he heard in reply was stony silence, he finally lifted up, keeping one hand on the railing as he turned sideways to look at her. She had her arms crossed against her chest and her posture was rigid as if she were frozen in place. He saw the fear in her eyes, and he wondered if she was afraid of him after all.

"You've been avoiding me," he said. He didn't mean it to sound accusatory, he simply wanted an explanation. 

Her arms tightened across her chest and she swallowed. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I should think that's obvious," she said, looking down at her feet. 

"Is the thought of this conversation so... unpalatable to you?" he asked, shaking his head. "Tell me, are the feelings themselves what you find so troubling, or simply the fact that I know about them?"

She rubbed the back of her neck and cleared her throat. "Neither, really." 

"Explain it to me," he said, taking a step toward her. "I am still very new at this. Help me understand."

She sighed and lifted her head again, but she still didn't look at him; she instead looked up at the stars. 

"The feelings, I've grown used to," she said, swallowing down her nerves. "I've had them for a long time, and I've come to terms with the fact that you know about them. It's the... rejection... the end of our friendship, I'm avoiding."

"The _what?"_ he asked, affronted by her answer. "What makes you think this will be the end of our friendship?"

"That's just..." She sighed and shrugged her shoulders before meeting his eyes again. "It's just how it happened in the past. I didn't... I _don't_ want that to happen this time. Our friendship means the world to me, Fenris. I was perfectly content to keep this to myself in order to preserve it."

"So you ran?" he asked, growing frustrated with his confusion. "You decided that... avoiding me completely would somehow fix the problem?"

"No, I just..." She let her hands drop onto her thighs. "I didn't know what else to do. I hoped that if I ignored it for long enough, it would just go away and we could pretend it never happened." 

He was getting angry. His confusion aside, the fact that she was under the impression that this would somehow be the demise of their friendship sparked rage in him. Did she think him so fickle? Had she ever known his loyalty to waver since he'd given it to her? He hadn't even considered that the tangle of emotions between them would lead to them no longer being friends. He didn't exactly know if he wanted more, but he was damned certain that he didn't want _less._

"You've had this conversation before, then?" he asked, his voice harder than he would have liked.

She swallowed. "It was a long time ago. Before I even came to Kirkwall."

"And you assume I will react in the same fashion that... this... other person did?"

She laughed sadly and looked up at the stars again. "A friendship is hard to maintain when someone has feelings you don't return, apparently." She sighed and shifted her weight on her feet, avoiding his eyes again. "Honestly, it's not very fun on this side either. No one likes to hear that they aren't wanted."

Fenris clenched his hands into fists and closed the distance between them. "That theory presupposes that I do not return your feelings."

"Well, obviously, because you don't..." she stopped a little short, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly as she looked up into his eyes. "Do you?" 

He exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose. "How should I know?" he groused. "I don't even know what your feelings _are."_

"How can you not know?" she asked, arching an annoyed eyebrow and motioning a hand in the direction of the Alienage. "That demon did everything but draw you a bloody diagram, Fenris!"

"It is all just _words,"_ he snapped, raising his voice as his frustration boiled over. "Words that imply something outside of my understanding. What is the word _'beloved'_ to a slave? What does it entail? I do not know if the words the demon used correspond to what I feel for you. My experience with the concept of intimacy is limited to what I have seen Danarius _force_ onto people. I do not know how to comprehend what I am feeling. I do not know how to articulate the veritable _hurricane_ you cause in me." 

He realized he was almost shouting, but he was too far gone to stop now. He reached out and gripped Anara by her shoulders. As he loomed over her, he met her stunned, fiery eyes with a burning gaze of his own. 

"But I will tell you what I _do_ know," he growled. "I know that the sight of that demon touching you the way it did ignited a rage in me that, to this day, I do not fully understand. I know that your face haunts me every time I close my eyes, and I know that your touch leaves _fire_ on my skin. I know that what I feel for you is powerful. I know it is _staggering._ I know it overwhelms my senses and sends my thoughts into utter _chaos."_ He loosened his grip on her arms, sliding his palms up the curve of her shoulders until they sat on either side of her throat, his voice much softer when he spoke again. "I just do not know its name, Anara. I do not know the words."

He felt her tense under his hands, and he watched her eyes dance back and forth between his as the words sank in. It seemed like an eternity that they stood there staring at one another, each one trying to gauge the other's reaction. When Fenris finally removed his hands from her neck, he rubbed his thumbs along the pads of his other fingers, already regretting letting her go. He wanted to reach for her again, ached to feel her soft skin under his hands. 

It could have been seconds and it could have been _hours_ before she finally reacted. She slowly, tentatively, raised her hands so that they pressed against his chest through his tunic. "Do you mean this?" she asked softly, a vulnerability he didn't care for in her expression. "Are you telling me the truth?"

He furrowed his brow and shook his head slightly. "Have you ever known me to lie to you?"

Fenris thought of what the desire demon had done, how it had touched her and how she'd reacted. He slowly lifted his right hand to brush his fingertips across her bottom lip. She shivered visibly under his touch, and it bolstered his courage. 

"I need you to tell me, Anara," he said, sliding his hand gently along her jawline until he was holding it in his palm. "Tell me if I return your feelings. "

"Fenris..." she breathed. The sound sent a shock of awareness through him that nearly robbed him of breath. He lifted his free hand to settle on her hip and pull her closer. Out of all the victories in Fenris' life, nothing had ever been quite as satisfying as the moment when she willingly yielded to his touch and formed against him.

She tilted her chin up, and he watched her gaze dart down to his mouth and back up to his eyes, silently asking him for something he didn't know how to give her. He swallowed a hard breath and bent his head just as she started to lift up on her toes. 

He felt her lips press against his so he instinctively mimicked the action, and in a moment, everything changed. 

All the markings on his body came alight at once, as if illustrating the devastating reaction her kiss had on him. His eyebrows knit together, and something felt like it was trying to swallow up his chest. It almost felt like pain, but wasn't quite; it was something else entirely. A dull ache that squeezed around his lungs and forced the air out of him. Something he could only describe as _weakness_ swept through his legs and he clutched her tighter to him as if that would keep them both upright.

She made a small, enticing sound as she opened her mouth and slotted their lips together again. Fenris followed suit, taking only what she was giving him because he didn't know how to do anything else. 

His right hand slid to the back of her head and his left hand traveled up her back to press between her shoulders, bending her back a little as her arms entwined around his neck. His heart hammered against his ribcage and his skin burned like the fires of hell had risen up to consume him. Again, she moved her lips to fit their mouths together and Fenris followed her lead, like he always did, like he always would. 

She tasted the way freedom was supposed to taste, he decided. 

He'd been kissed before. As far as he knew, kissing was something to be endured, not something that made the ground drop out beneath his feet. The kiss he and Anara shared on her balcony was incomparable to the ones that had been forced on him in Tevinter. When he was a slave, they had been bitter and sickening. Not like this. This was sweet and hesitant, kind and trusting; it was everything that encompassed Anara herself. Each brush of her lips against his felt like she was asking him permission for the next. He'd never felt anything like it. 

Fenris pressed harder between her shoulders and tangled his fingers into her hair, wanting to eliminate as much space between them as possible. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck and pressing the length of her body against his. He didn't even recognize the sound that came out of him as he kissed her, his hand fisting hard into the back of her vest without his permission. 

Slowly, their kiss grew more confident, more open, each of them spurred on by the other's reactions. There was no ambush, no hunters, no Danarius. There was no slavery or freedom or anything between the two. There was only her, there was only the taste of her breath and her silken lips against his, there was only her fingers in his hair and the shape of her body fitting perfectly against his own. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. 

Even as his hands held her more insistently, their mouths continued their slow, careful movements. With each push and pull of their lips, their kiss grew deeper, until he was quite certain the sensation would drive him mad. He felt her tongue brush gently across his bottom lip and he couldn't stop the groan that spilled into her mouth. His hand moved down her back, feeling each notch of her spine through the leather of her armor as she arched against him. 

When they finally broke apart, he felt her exhale against his mouth and he realized they were both panting, clutching to each other desperately. He stared down into her eyes, realizing with some satisfaction that they seemed darker, almost wild. Her lips were more pink and her hair was knotted around his hand. She was perfectly, enchantingly disheveled. He'd never seen anything look quite as good as she did in his arms, kiss-addled and starry-eyed. 

Without any warning, she grinned, and Fenris couldn't help but smile back at her. He was lost, he realized. Bewitched, more like.

"Wow," she said breathlessly. 

"I was thinking something similar," he replied, moving his hand out from her hair to brush the backs of his fingers along her cheek.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared up at him, no ghosts haunting her expression, no shadows dancing behind her eyes. She looked so happy, so full of hope, and it was all his doing. 

He didn't think he'd ever known pride like what he felt in that moment.

"We should get you inside," she said softly, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Someone is bound to notice you like this."

He tilted his head in confusion for a second before realizing that her face, hair, and throat were all reflecting the light of his lyrium. He looked down at his arms and realized every marking on his body was still glowing.

She trailed her hands across his shoulders and down his arms until she'd taken his hands. As she led him back into her bedroom, he tried to calm the buzzing of his lyrium. It helped when she stepped away from him to close the balcony doors and draw the curtains, and he took a steadying breath and forced the light in his skin to dim. 

"We only have a few hours before dawn," she said, taking one of his hands in hers, "and we have a busy day tomorrow."

"Right," he said, squeezing her hand back. "You have not yet slept, have you?"

She laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear with her free hand. "No, I haven't. Though I'm hardly tired _now."_

He smiled at that, noting how becoming a blush looked on her cheeks. "I should let you rest then." 

"You could stay here," she said, swallowing audibly the moment she said it. "I mean... you don't have to, obviously."

Fenris spared a glance to the large bed behind her before returning his gaze to her face. "Do you... _want_ me to stay here?"

"I don't think I would have offered otherwise," she said, artfully avoiding having to say yes. "Nothing... untoward. We'll just... go to sleep. It certainly wouldn't be the first time we've slept in the same room."

"In the past when we have slept in the same space we were on different pieces of furniture," he countered, arching a playful eyebrow. "Do you intend to make me sleep in the chair?"

She backed toward her bed, pulling him along by his hand. "Do you _want_ to sleep in the chair?"

He smiled. "It is comforting to know that you are still impossible to talk to."


	31. The Hunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Alright folks, sorry for the short chapter. It's been a hell of a week and I'm currently 3 days into a 13 day spree of not having a day off (all graveyard shifts) so it's very likely that there will be no chapter next week, which is why I wanted to make sure I got this one done so hopefully I don't have to go two weeks in a row without posting. It's very likely that my 13 days with no day off might turn into 18 days depending on my schedule next week so yeesh. I'll keep everyone updated on my Facebook/Tumblr/twitter/etc. 
> 
> So glad everyone liked the chapter last week! I hope you like this one too. Your comments/reviews are like my energy source these days. thank you guys. I seriously love each and every one of you. <3
> 
> * * *

Anara pulled off her armor until she was only in her white undershirt and trousers before sliding into her bed, urging Fenris in beside her by his hand. 

"Thank you," she said as he settled against the soft mattress.

"What for?" he asked. He shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to do with his hands before letting them simply fall onto his stomach. 

"I don't know," she admitted, propping herself up on an elbow so she could see his face. "Everything I suppose."

"You saved me from an ambush tonight," he said. "You then invited me into your home to keep me safe. I should be the one thanking you."

"I suppose that's true," She tucked her hair behind her ear with a smile. "Well, go on then. I'll wait."

He laughed and put a hand behind his head. "I can hardly say it with you expecting it. You would not think me sincere."

She laughed and shook her head, unable to really grasp that he was there. He was in her bed and he wanted her; it was like another dream out of the Fade. She chewed on her bottom lip as she considered their predicament. She had told him they would only sleep, and that was all she had intended, but she would be a fool to simply lay beside him and waste this opportunity. She quickly grew unsure under his gaze. He was looking at her as if trying to decipher her thoughts, trying to see through her in that way he always could. 

"What is it?" he finally asked, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm contemplating moving that arm," she said, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks as she said it.

He quirked a confused eyebrow and moved the arm closest to her. "This arm?" 

"Yes," she replied, taking his forearm and moving it out of the way so she could ease up against his side. She swallowed nervously as she put her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. She felt him tense but it was very brief before he started to relax. "Is this alright?" she asked. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"I am not... uncomfortable exactly." He cleared his throat and shifted slightly. "This is all... very new to me." 

She started to trace little patterns on his chest with her fingers as she contemplated whether or not to confirm something she had long suspected. "So there's... never been anyone else?"

He swallowed and shook his head. "Not that I remember. If there was someone before I became a slave..." He shrugged to finish his sentence.

"And after you escaped?"

"I stayed nowhere for long," he explained softly. "Who would I trust? I didn't think I needed anyone... or _wanted_ anyone. Until now."

He pulled his other hand out from behind his head and used it to press her hand flat to his sternum. As she felt his fingers curl around her palm on his chest, she felt like hear heart was trying to break her ribs, it was beating so hard. 

"What of you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "You said you have... done this before?"

"Not... literally this," she said, shifting against him. "It was a long time ago. More than ten years, now." 

"Can I ask what happened?"

She shrugged. "I was in love. He wasn't. I found out the hard way."

"What is the hard way?"

"I found out he was... intimate with someone else as well as me."

"Ah. He was unfaithful."

"No, nothing like that." She shook her head and tried to figure out how to explain. "You have to understand, I was very young. He never intended to make me think we were... exclusive to one another. He was under the impression that we were just having fun. I turned it into more than it was in my head, and when I confronted him about it, he realized what was going on and set me straight. Gently, of course."

"And that was the end?"

"Yes. Not through any fault of his own, it just hurt to be around him after that. I haven't seen him since. I don't even know if he survived the Blight."

There were long minutes of silence before Fenris spoke again. "And there has been no one else since?"

She swallowed thickly. "No." 

"Why?"

"Because I hated being so... _powerless._ So vulnerable. It was wretched." She sighed and shook her head. "I promised myself I would never give anyone that kind of power over me again. That I would never let anyone get that close." She turned her head just enough to look up at him. "And then you had to find me and screw it all up."

"Hardly," he said, smiling as he brought his hand up from behind her to start idly combing his fingers through her hair. "I found you in the same way that a rabbit _'finds'_ an oncoming carriage. Though I am glad my inexperience did not dissuade you."

She entwined their legs and moved closer to him. "Experience or no experience, kissing you is very... enjoyable."

"Are you surprised?" he asked, reaching across his chest to tilt her chin up with the knuckle of his index finger. "You have always told me that I am a fast learner."

"So I have," she said softly, leaning up into his touch.

"Thank you, Anara. For preventing that ambush. For bringing me here..." He nudged his nose against hers. "For everything," he added softly. 

When he finally kissed her, Hawke felt as though her heart were trying to climb out of her throat. She had never dared hope that Fenris could want her this way, and now that she knew he did, she felt on top of the world. It had never felt like this before, to be kissed. Fenris kissed her with slow, drugging intensity. It made her feel both staggeringly weak, and fantastically powerful. Fenris touched her as if she were precious and fragile, as if the slightest slip of his fingers would shatter this dream they were both grasping to. It almost brought tears to her eyes. 

The kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, and Hawke nuzzled into the crook of his neck unable to stop smiling. 

"Goodnight, Fenris," she said, words she had said a thousand times before when he would walk her home.

"Goodnight, Anara," he said, turning his face into her hair. She could feel him smiling, and she knew that he, too, found the words to be completely different this time.

* * *

The last time Fenris awoke with another person beside him, he had been crammed below deck of a ship headed to the mainland, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he slept shoulder to shoulder with the other slaves and stowaways. 

The only time Fenris had ever woken up with a feeling of any kind of intimacy, he'd awoken upright in a chair, Anara's hand in his the morning after pouring his heart out in a conversation that had been mostly wine-induced. 

This was entirely different.

As his consciousness slowly came back to him, he was vaguely aware of an unfamiliar weight against him. The last vestiges of the kisses he and Anara had shared danced behind his eyelids and faded into the recess of his memory, leaving an exquisite warmth in its wake. When he finally blinked awake, he was in a strange bed... and he wasn't alone. 

The figure beside him shifted, making a soft whimpering sound. Fenris turned his head just enough to see Anara's face, still peacefully unaware as she slept against his shoulder. She nuzzled her face against him, and he couldn't help the smile that tugged on his lips. He firmed his arm around her waist, and she gladly yielded and curled up against his side more securely. He was still holding her hand against his sternum with his other hand, and he couldn't help but note how perfectly they fit together.

Yes, he could get used to this.

She was beautiful in the light of morning, but that was hardly a revelation. Over the past few weeks Fenris had realized that there wasn't a single instance in which Anara Hawke _wasn't_ beautiful. Fenris was starting to believe it was one of those things about life that would be constant: The sun would rise, wounds would heal, and Anara would be beautiful. 

Fenris lifted his hand to reach across and tuck her hair behind her ear, and she moved her face into his touch, making another endearing sound in her sleep as she did. He sighed through his nose and traced his hand down her arm until it was resting on her hand against his chest again. 

He ran the events of the previous night over in his head; the tender kisses and softly spoken words, the dizzying euphoria and powerful need that had swept through him. It was a memory that nothing, not even another lyrium ritual, would be able to take away from him. 

Now that the light of morning was shining into the room, now that they had slept and eased the odd electrical charge between them, Fenris wondered if she would still be glad for his presence. Should he get up? Should he wake her? The thoughts alone made him smile. He remembered when he experienced a similar dilemma when he'd fallen asleep with her hand in his. On that occasion she had simply awoken and run from the room as if nothing happened; he doubted it would be so easy this morning. 

He knew she had wanted to move out at dawn in order to ambush the hunters on the Wounded Coast, but he couldn't bring himself to wake her. He had slept for a few hours before the ambush, completely oblivious to the fact that Anara had been out tracking it before waking him up. He told himself that she needed her rest, he told himself that it would be selfish to wake her just to handle the hunters that were after him. The fact that letting her sleep came with a few more hours of listening to her soft breathing and feeling the contours of her body pressed up against his side was merely... a pleasant byproduct of his concern.

It was midmorning by the time she stirred. Her arms extended across his chest and her legs went rigid along his as she stretched before relaxing against him again. She murmured something that he thought might have been his name, but he couldn't be sure. 

"Good morning," he said.

She froze. Fenris felt her tense all over before jutting up onto her hands to look down at him. "Fenris," she breathed, more than a little disbelieving.

He arched a confused eyebrow, sitting up on his elbows under her. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"No, I just..." she laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I suppose I thought I had dreamed the whole thing."

"Afraid not," he said, smiling as he tilted his head to the side. She was in a rather captivating state of disarray, with her hair tousled carelessly and the neck of the shirt she'd worn to bed sliding down one shoulder. "You're not disappointed, I hope."

She smiled and shook her head, a blush creeping into her cheeks. "Disappointed is the last word I would use."

"I am very glad to hear that."

"Maker, Fenris," she said as she looked out her window. "It's well into the morning. We were supposed to be up hours ago."

"Oh? I had completely forgotten."

"Liar," she accused. "You are rather disconcertingly calm for a man who has an encampment of hunters after him."

"Am I?" he asked, grinning now. "Were you expecting dramatics? Would you like me to faint?"

"Do shut up," she said, bending down to kiss him.

"Gladly."

* * *

Fenris, Varric, Aveline, and Hawke made their way to the Wounded Coast to seek out the bandit encampment. Per usual, Aveline and Varric led the way and Fenris stayed behind with Hawke bringing up the rear. It was just naturally how they had always formed, since the very beginning. 

And yet, like everything else it seemed, it was so very different. 

Hawke was definitely not paying all that much attention to the chatter between her three companions. Her thoughts were on the previous night. Her mind swam with thoughts of Fenris; the deep rumble of his voice, the earthy scent of his skin, the comforting hum of his lyrium beneath her. She was glad she was masked because she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. 

When she turned to sneak a glance at Fenris, he was already looking at her, smiling knowingly as if to tell her he knew very well where her thoughts were. 

_"Hawke!"_ Varric almost shouted, cracking through her reverie. 

"What? Yes. What happened?"

"Hawke asked, finally snapping out of whatever the hell she was daydreaming about," Varric grumbled. "'Where the hell are we going?' our hero asked, irritable from having to ask three times."

"Are you... narrating?" Aveline asked. 

"I might as well, no one else seems to be paying any attention."

"Sorry," Hawke said, glad no one could see her blushing and ignoring how Fenris averted his eyes to keep from laughing. "To the left. It'll be just around the next bend."

Her face was burning and she avoided Varric's all-too-observant gaze and Aveline's soft snickering. She was about to say something to dissuade the dwarf from whatever tale he was undoubtedly concocting in his mind, but she was interrupted by an arrow being fired into the sand at her feet. 

"Stop right there!" a hunter bellowed from the cliff. "You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave now and you'll be spared."

Hawke cursed under her breath; she'd been afraid of this. Getting a late start had given the hunters the opportunity to expect them, and ample time to prepare. 

"Do as they say," Fenris said, turning to make meaningful eye contact with Hawke. "Back away." 

Hawke saw the mischievous gleam in his eyes, and knew exactly what he was doing. She put her hands up defensively and made eye contact with Aveline and Varric to silently tell them to follow suit. Fenris turned to face her as she backed further and further from the cliff. 

"Very good," the slaver called down to them. "We don't want any more trouble."

"Much too late for that," Fenris said, smiling as he linked his fingers into a foothold. 

Hawke burst forward, sprinting toward Fenris like a cannonball. She jumped and planted her feet directly into his hands, and he used her momentum to push her weight up and over his head, launching her up onto the cliff. 

She reeled her daggers back and plunged them both into the chest of the leader, landing on top of him when he fell. Varric took his queue beautifully and launched a smoke bomb onto the cliff and sent the entire party of slavers into chaos. 

While Hawke dealt with the group on the cliff, the others defended against the rest coming in from the sides that had originally intended to ambush them. 

It didn't take long for Hawke to finish off those on the cliff, and when she'd felled the last of them, she jumped back down and naturally fell into her place at Fenris' back. Like they always did, they killed the remainder of the hunters with relative ease. Hawke followed Fenris to a young magister that was attempting to crawl away, and he flipped the mage onto his back and put a foot on his chest, draping an arm casually over his knee as he crouched down on top of him. 

"Please," the magister begged. "Please, don't kill me." 

"I am not who you should be worrying about," Fenris said, motioning his head behind him. 

Hawke walked up behind Fenris so the magister could see her over his head, and she spun her blades idly in her hands as she waited. 

"By the void," he whined. "Please, I don't... I don't know where he is."

"He is not with you?" Fenris asked calmly. 

"We didn't come with Danarius," he explained. "Hadriana brought us."

Hawke noticed how Fenris' shoulders strained and the light-heartedness he'd been sporting all morning seemed to evaporate in an instant.

Fenris lifted the mage's head by gripping into his hair. "Where is she?" he demanded through his teeth. 

"She's.... at the holding caves north of the city. I... I can show you the w-"

Fenris spun the mage's head, snapping his neck with a movement as efficient as it was ruthless. He stood slowly, his shoulders high and tense, his hands fists at his sides.

"Hadriana..." he growled, talking to no one in particular.

"Who is she?" Hawke asked.

"One of his apprentices. I remember her only too well," he said, slowly turning around, but not looking at her. "She is a sniveling social climber that would sell her own _children_ if she thought it would please Danarius. If she's here, it is at his bidding. I _knew_ it. I knew he would never let this go, I was a _fool_ to think I was free."

"Fenris," Hawke said, reaching to put her hand on his shoulder but stopping herself and clearing her throat. "What do you want to do?"

"Find her," he snapped. "I know the caves of which he spoke. They were used to harbor slaves in the old times."

"Is it far from here?"

"No," he said, turning to head that way. "If she is there, it is only a matter of time before she learns her hunters have failed and runs. I won't let her slither out of my grasp. Not when she is so close."

Hawke felt her eyebrows upturn and her concerned words die on her tongue. She looked at Varric and Aveline before swallowing down her nerves and following after Fenris. 

He had been so carefree just moments ago. All morning he had been soft smiles and teasing words, but now it seemed like their five years of friendship evaporated almost instantly. He was hard and rigid and unyielding, just like he had been that very first night in the Alienage. Hawke didn't know who Hadriana was, but she had to be perfectly dreadful for Fenris to have such a savage reaction to her presence.

What could she say? She was well and truly out of her depth suddenly. If the answer wasn't a dagger to someone's throat or a heart-to-heart, she had no idea what to do. What was one supposed to say when a friend was confronted by a lifelong tormentor? What was the appropriate response to such ruthless and virile hatred? What was the cure for years and years of agony and torture? 

Hawke knew Fenris wanted Danarius and all his underlings dead. She had known that for as long as she'd known Fenris himself, but now she couldn't help but recall something he had said years and years ago. 

_The monster is **inside** me, Hawke, and I will not be free from it until Danarius is dead. _

Hawke had disagreed with him then, and she disagreed with him still. Killing this apprentice, or even Danarius, wouldn't be the answer for Fenris. She knew that as well as she knew anything. He could slaughter every Magister in Thedas and it would still not free him from the invisible shackles round his wrists. Fenris would never be free, not truly, until he learned to simply let go of the anger. 

She certainly couldn't tell him that _now._ He was seething with his fury, his lyrium glowing faintly as he marched toward the caves. It had been years since she'd seen him like this, and it frightened her. She didn't want him to lose himself, didn't want him to forget the last five years, didn't want him to forget how much he had laughed or how his edges had softened. But what could she do? How did she breech the subject? How did she make him see that what he had now was worth letting go for?

The thought alone made her trip on her feet, something she never did. Varric looked at her sideways, but wisely didn't comment. She had to get her head on straight. She didn't even know if what Fenris had now _was_ worth more to him than Danarius' life. She didn't know if a few friends and a... whatever she was to him now, was something he even valued highly. She knew he cared about her, likely more than he had cared for anyone in a very long time, and while that was a wonderful revelation, she didn't know if it was enough. What were a few stolen kisses to a lifetime of bitterness and resentment? 

It was that moment that Anara Hawke realized that she didn't just want Fenris, that she didn't just care for him and she wasn't simply enamored with him. She was selfish, she determined. She wanted to be worth more to him than his revenge. 

She wanted, just this once, to be enough.


	32. The Confrontation

By the time they got to the Holding Caves, Fenris had tuned all other thoughts out of his head. He wasn't thinking about soft words and gentle touches on Hawke's balcony, he wasn't thinking about the pleasant weight of her against his chest or the scent of her hair; those thoughts had been banished. All that remained was Hadriana. All he could see were her taunting smiles, all he could hear was her mocking laughter. Of all of Danarius's apprentices, she was the one he hated most.

Compared to what he had shared with Anara the previous night, the kisses the apprentice had forced on him now made his stomach turn. He remembered the feeling of her tongue slithering into his mouth, her hands clenching in his hair and forcing his head back. He could still taste her breath, a bitter aroma of hatred and superiority. 

It was as if he only now recognized how horribly she had treated him now that he had something so perfect to compare it to, and he was outraged on his own behalf. He would never be free from Danarius while she drew breath. She would always find him, and Danarius would use Fenris' disgust to lure him to Hadriana without putting himself in any danger. 

They fought their way through the caves, Varric and Aveline having to cover their noses to protect from the overwhelming stench of blood and death. The evidence of Hadriana's depravity was around every corner and each new example did nothing but fuel Fenris' hatred. 

More than once he had to keep himself in control. He reminded himself that Anara was watching. He reminded himself that he could not let the monster out, regardless that it clawed at his skin and growled for its freedom. It wasn't until they found the slave girl that Fenris knew he was getting out of line. Hawke had offered for the girl to find her in Kirkwall so she could help her, and in a fantastic display of short sightedness, Fenris had snapped. 

"I didn't know you were in the market for _slaves_ ," he sneered.

Hawke's eyes widened and then narrowed. "I gave her a _job_ , Fenris," she bit back. "I am going to pay her. Do you think all slaves as capable of surviving without guidance as you?"

Fenris swallowed thickly, the lyrium glow dulling considerably. "Oh," he said dumbly, shaking his head. "That's... good then. My apologies."

Of _course_ Hawke wasn't going to take on a slave. This was _Hawke._ The only person he knew who loathed slavery almost as much as he did. His rage was obviously getting the better of him if it was driving him to turn on Anara over nothing. He had to get a handle on it. He couldn't afford to get sloppy. Not when he was so close. 

He wondered if Anara even recognized him like this.

* * *

The door to the last chamber flew off the hinges Fenris kicked it open so hard, his rage having fulminated to a boiling point with every meaningless attempt to deter him. He stepped into the large room only to see Hadriana at the other end of it. She turned and met his eyes, and his markings came alight in an explosion of bluish-white. 

"Hadriana," he growled, his hand tightening painfully on the hilt of his sword. 

"Well, well, well," Hadriana lilted, swinging her hips and spinning her staff in her hand. "Look what the Hawk dragged in."

Fenris couldn't find the words that would properly convey his rage, so he roared an unintelligible sound that was more animal than man. He didn't care to turn and see whether or not his comrades were prepared to fight with him, he simply charged. 

It was a gruesome fight. Fenris had never seen so many demons and dead come to life. In the end though, it didn't matter. Hadriana fell just as every other enemy in their path had fallen, and he closed in on her like a jungle cat stalking a wounded doe.

He was prepared to listen to her grovel. He was prepared to see the fear in her eyes as he dashed her against the stones. He was prepared for just about everything except the news that he might have a living sister. The light in his lyrium faded almost instantly, and he knew that she recognized the stunned look on his face. If someone would have warned him that Hadriana had information that he was willing to trade for the apprentice's life, he would have laughed in their face. 

But a sister... living family... a link to his past, to his memories? Could he really just... let that slip out of his grasp?

He promised to let Hadriana live in exchange for the information, but once he had it, he knew there was no way of knowing if it was even true, or a trap. He realized, as he reached into Hadriana's chest and looked into her wide, terrified blue eyes, that his word was not worth nearly as much as he had originally thought. 

"We are done here," Fenris growled as he turned to walk away. 

"What was that?" Hawke snapped. "You gave her your _word_!"

"I gave her what she deserved," Fenris barked, whirling around to face her. He spit onto the ground to emphasize his point. "That's what her bloody deal was worth."

Varric cleared his throat. "Maybe not the best time to be offering the elf constructive criticism," he grumbled.

Hawke ignored him and kept her steely gaze on Fenris. "Is your word worth so little? Are your promises so untrustworthy?"

"As if a promise I give the likes of her is worth the same as a promise I give you?"

"Your word is your word, Fenris, no matter whom you bestow it upon!"

"Do not be a fool, Anara," Fenris growled. "Danarius could have sent Hadriana here specifically for this to happen, for her to tell me about this 'sister' of mine. The whole thing is likely a trap!"

"That doesn't make it right," she said, but Fenris barely heard her. 

He started to pace back and forth, running the implications over in his mind. "Even if he didn't," he grumbled, "trying to locate her would be suicide. He has to know about her and... and he has to know that Hadriana knows." He looked down at the unseeing eyes of his tormenter and rubbed his thumb against the pads of his other fingers, feeling the slickness of her blood still lingering on his hand. "It doesn't matter," he concluded. "What matters is I finally got to crush this _bitch's_ heart. May she rot... and all the other mages with her."

"Maybe we should leave," Aveline chimed helpfully, "before someone says something they do not mean."

"As if I do not mean what I say?" Fenris asked, whirling around. "You saw what was done here, _Captain_. There's always going to be some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this."

"And what of your sister? You won't even try to find her?" Aveline asked. "After all this? After all your brooding over your lost past?"

"Even if I found her, there's no telling what the magisters will have done to her by now. What does magic touch that it doesn't _spoil?"_

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Even with her mask and hood up, he saw how they hurt Hawke. He heard the soft gasp of breath she took and saw the way her eyebrows upturned. In the moment of pained eye contact they shared, he knew exactly what memory she was recalling. 

_You are touched by your father's magic. It lives on in you whether or not you are a mage._

He felt like the ice in his chest wrenched around his heart, and it only fueled his anger further. He stormed out of the caves ahead of them, slamming the door open so it echoed across the coast. In that moment, Fenris was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He'd let himself get so angry, so out of control that he had hurt the only thing he'd ever really wanted to protect. He'd hurt Anara, and so soon after they seemed to have finally come together.

He was such a fool.

* * *

_What does magic touch that it doesn't **spoil?**_

The words hung in Anara's heart all night as she paced around her room, listening to the storm outside. The rain pounded against her rooftop and she watched it come down in sheets outside her window. She had never seen that side of Fenris, had never seen just how much rage he kept buried all the time. Was that fury always there, hidden just below the surface? Was it just a vice-like grip on his self-control that kept him from murdering all he came across? Did he feel that same hatred while he'd been kissing her? Was even her love not enough to banish it from his mind for a few short hours?

She shook her head and cursed her childish romantic fantasies. This was not a lurid novel of Varric's; this was a very real, very dangerous game they were playing. Fenris had warned her on several occasions that there was a monster inside of him. For the first time in their acquaintance, she wondered if perhaps that was true. 

She stared into the flames as they danced in the hearth, pulling her robe more firmly around herself. The fire would not be warming her tonight because the chill she felt wasn't from the temperature in the room; it was from the memories of Fenris in that horrid chamber. The look in his eyes as he viciously cursed all mages was ingrained into her subconscious. 

Somewhere in her mind she knew that he was right, that there was no way to know if the news about his sister had been a trap. No matter how she wracked her brain, she couldn't think of a way to go about trying to contact his sister without exposing him to Danarius. Maybe that was for the best, she thought ruefully. Perhaps the sooner Danarius came to them, the sooner Fenris could abandon his hatred. 

Anara rubbed her eyes and shook her head. She knew very well that wasn't true. The only one who could free Fenris from his hate was himself. She just didn't know how to make him see that.

A rapping on her window made her jump and whirl around, clutching her robe closed across her chest. She sighed in relief when she saw Fenris on her balcony, soaking wet, his hand pressed up against the glass of her door. She crossed the room and threw the doors open. 

"Fenris," she said. "Maker, you're soaked to the bone. Come in, come in." She opened up a cupboard by her desk and pulled a few towels from the shelves. "What are you thinking standing out in the rain like this? You're going to make yourself ill."

"I am sorry," he said softly as he stepped into her room. "I... had to see you. I did not want to wake the entire house, and I saw your light on..."

"It's alright," she said, draping a towel over his head and starting to dry his hair. Where once there was a burning rage, Hawke saw only sadness in his face now. He would not look at her, he just stood there and allowed her to move the towel over his hair and neck. "We need to get this armor off," she said softly, wrapping the towel around his neck.

He said nothing as she started to work the fastenings of his armor, sliding his gauntlets off his hands and helping him out of his chest piece. Once he was in only his tunic and leggings, she took his hands and began to lead him to the fire.

"Come," she urged quietly. "We need to get you warm."

"That is unnecessary," he replied, though he didn't fight her. 

"Nonsense. You'll catch a chill otherwise."

"I have been... thinking about what happened," he said, stopping in front of the fire. "With Hadriana," he clarified. 

"I guessed as much," Hawke said softly. She pulled the towel off from around his neck and started to gently run it down his arms. 

"You and I don't always..." he sighed and looked into the fire. "We are not always in agreement but... you did not deserve my anger today. I owe you an apology." 

"Nonsense, Fenris. You were upset."

"Stop," he said, taking her wrists in his hands. "Please."

Hawke looked up into his face and saw how he was struggling, saw the pain and anguish in his usually passive features. "Alright," she said, slowly dropping the towel. "I'm listening."

"I did not mean what I said to you today. You..." he put her hands on his chest and finally raised his eyes to hers. "You are not spoilt, Anara. You are _good,_ and I do not deserve the kindnesses you show me."

"Where have you been?" she asked. "I've... worried about you, Fenris. I did not like the state you were in."

She watched the muscle of his jaw tense before he exhaled through his nose. "I had to be alone before I said something else hurtful."

"And what of Hadriana? Trust me when I say I am not grieving her, but that doesn't change the fact that you gave her your word, Fenris. Your word is all you have at the end of the day, and your enemies are not worth tainting it over."

"You do not understand," Fenris said, shaking his head and letting go of her hands. "When I was a slave... Hadriana was a torment. She was right there and as I was looking at her, all I could hear was her ridicule, all I could feel was her condescending touch in my hair. She used to deny my meals and hound me in my sleep, and in a moment, I was powerless all over again. I wanted to let her go, to prove that I was better than her but... I couldn't."

"Fenris, she had no power over you," Hawke explained. "You _gave_ her the power. You must realize that."

"And what would you have me do?" he asked, that same edge sharpening his tone. "Hadriana came after _me_. I have never had the option to simply walk away, why should she? Would you have me forgive, no matter how many times they hunt me down? Would you have me forget what they've done to me?"

"You are drinking your own poison, Fenris," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "This-this _madness_ in you is exactly what Danarius wants, can't you see that? Until you can let this go, he will always hold the power!"

"Let this go?" he growled, his markings slowly igniting. "It is a _sickness_ , this hate. It is a dark growth inside of me. I cannot let it go, Anara, it is a part of me!"

"That hatred in you is _exactly_ why you will never be free," she snapped. "You are so powerless to your hatred it has become your new _master_. For all your talk of freedom you have done nothing but exchange your physical chains for imagined ones!"

He snarled through his teeth and gripped her biceps hard in his hands. "You know _nothing_ of being a slave!"

"I know that your hatred makes up the shackles round your ankles!" she retorted, not daring to back down now. "I know you will never be free until you learn to stop caring about the Hadrianas in the world!" 

"What do I have if not this hatred?" Fenris barked. "It is what drives me, it is all I have!"

"No, Fenris, it's not," Anara said softly. She reached up and put her hands on either side of his face, staring up into his burning green eyes. "Fenris, you are better than this. You are your own man. You are strong and kind, you are a wonderful friend and a talented swordsman. You have a home of your own, you can read and write and play the violin. You have powerful allies, and you have friends who will defend you. You have a future that is of your own making. Fenris, you have so much."

His eyebrows upturned and the rage in his face melted away. She watched as he desperately searched her eyes for something she couldn't possibly guess. Finally his arms fell away from her arms and he shook his head, forcing Anara to drop her hands.

"This... isn't why I came here," he said, raking his fingers back through his hair and turning toward the balcony. "I only wanted to apologize for letting my anger control my words."

"So... you're just going to leave?"

"I think it would be best if I did."

Not allowing herself to think twice, she caught his arm before he could open the balcony door and spun him around to look at her. Once she met his eyes, however, her mind went blank and she couldn't think of anything to say. Her mouth was dry and she desperately tried to find words to make him stay, but nothing would come.

Fenris reached out hesitantly to lift her chin with the edge of his index finger, and Hawke yielded to the touch and looked up at him. She studied his expression, trying to decipher the odd mixture of emotions she saw running through him, but there was nothing for it. Fenris' had long trained himself to keep his intent out of his face, and even at his most vulnerable he was still a fortress. Silently he seemed to come to a decision and he bent his head and kissed her.

Anara didn't waste a moment. She threw her arms around his neck and held him close, glorying in the sensation of him wrapping his arms around her back. She silently begged him to stay, combing her fingers through his white hair and kissing him like she would never get another chance. She felt his hands harden on her back as the kiss deepened. Gone were the frightened, unsure kisses of the previous night. Their kisses were filled with fire and urgency. They were not sweet or hesitant, they were demanding and passionate.

Fenris tangled his hand into her hair as if to hold her in place. He was just as wild as she was and Hawke reveled in the realization. Slowly she started to lead Fenris toward her bed, pulling him along and not daring to stop kissing him for fear that he would come to his senses. She gripped into his tunic and sat on the bed, easing herself back as she pulled him down. He caught himself on his hands and the weight of him sent a powerful thrill through her. 

She wanted him to be hers, if only for that night. Perhaps it wouldn't last forever, perhaps it could never work like she wanted it to, but she would have that night. She would be able to look back on it every day and know that in those moments, Fenris wanted her. In those moments, she felt powerful and beautiful, and she promised herself that no matter what happened, she would always have those memories.

Maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

* * *

Fenris could not think. 

Somewhere in his mind, he was aware of Anara unfastening his tunic, but he didn't have the presence of mind to understand what any of it meant. Her scent filled his head, the feeling of her silken skin under his hands was powerful and overwhelming. Her hands slid up his bare chest to push his tunic off over his shoulders, and he found himself obeying instinctively, breaking their kiss only long enough to shrug the garment onto the floor. 

He came back down on top of her, claiming her mouth with his own. He palmed her bare calf and slid his hand over her knee and onto her thigh, pushing up her robe as he moved. He had _dreamed_ of touching her, and from the sounds she made, he gathered it was mutual. Her deft, agile hands moved along his chest and shoulders as if she were trying to memorize him. 

Fenris kissed her throat, just barely brushing his tongue along her skin, something in him demanding to taste her. She arched underneath him and made a sound so sensuous that he thought he would lose motor function. He kissed the hollow of her throat where her collar bones met, sliding a hand into her robe to part it and grant him access to more of her skin. As the sash came loose and the garment opened for him, instincts he didn't know he had started to take hold of him. 

Her legs wrapped around him and pulled him down, forcing him to roll his hips against her, tearing a sound out of him that he didn't know he was capable of making. The exquisite friction of their bodies was enough to drive him mad. He kissed her again, sliding his forearm under her neck as they began to move together toward some unknowable goal. He palmed her bare side and slid his hand up to her shoulder to hold her closer to him. 

Not all of the reading in the world could have prepared him for Anara in the throes of passion. She writhed and called out for him, and his name had never sounded so good. If he had thought about it beforehand, he might have had the presence of mind to be nervous. As far as he knew, he'd never done this before, and the fear of offending her might have steered him away. Once he was in her arms, however, and they were tangled together and desperately trying to free each other from the remainders of their clothing, he couldn't possibly spare a moment to be unsure. He had never known need like what was currently clawing at his insides, something in him winding and tightening into unbearable pressure. 

He knew what happened to a string when it was wound too tightly. 

Anara's voice was like a drug. It sent electricity down his spine the likes of which he had never felt. She pleaded softly for more, she moaned into his skin and said his name over and over again. He hadn't had the chance to worry that he wouldn't know what to do, she was all too eager to ask for it, and it was power like Fenris had never known it. He gave her everything she pleaded for, unable to deny her, unable to control the storm that had broken over them. 

Their bodies met in slow, tender motions, and Fenris buckled onto his elbow to erase the distance between them. He kissed at the curve of her shoulder and felt her nails in his back as they moved. He could feel the tension coiling in them and had no idea where it would lead, he could only follow her down into madness. 

Something changed in her rather suddenly. He didn't know how to identify it, but he _felt_ it. He could feel the tension in her double, he sensed her breaking point, and in a moment of clarity wondered if he was hurting her. Just as he began to slow his movements and lift up, she begged him desperately not to stop and the sound sent a shock wave through him, propelling him forward and tearing a wild sound out of him. 

Something in her snapped, and he lifted up to look at her just in time to watch her arch off the bed. She cried out his name and he felt her start to quake underneath him. He'd never seen anything like it. He watched her pleasure wash over her and found himself fisting into the quilt so hard his knuckles were white. He could hardly comprehend what he'd done, only that he was the one to do it, and it was the most astonishing thing he'd ever seen. 

He felt himself tense to the point of pain, but had no idea how to release it. It seemed only to build and build, and he knew there had to be an end, he knew there had to be some kind of breaking point or he felt as though he'd shatter like glass. 

"Anara," he groaned into her throat. "I... I need..."

"I know," she panted, wrapping her arms securely around his shoulders as he moved. "Stop fighting. Relax for me. I've got you, Fenris." 

He kissed her again and stopped trying to control his movements. He moaned openly against Anara's mouth as his motions became jerky and uncoordinated. When the pressure came to an almost painful apex his entire body snapped taut and he felt something powerful and undeniable crash over him. His voice filled the room as the strain in his muscles released. 

For a moment, he felt suspended in time. He'd never known anything like it. His markings burned so brightly they banished the darkness in the room, but just as quickly as the shattering euphoria had come, it was gone, and Fenris felt all at once boneless and exhausted. He leaned on his elbow as Anara turned to look at him, smiling and reaching to run her fingers through his hair. He smiled even through his panting, shaking his head when no words came to him. What could he possibly say?

So, he kissed her. He kissed her because it was the only thing that could possibly translate his adoration of her in that moment. He kissed her lips with slow, purposeful devotion, holding the side of her face as their lips slotted together. When the fog around them seemed to fade, she pulled back from the kiss to look at him, then gave him that bright, kind smile that always crumpled his defenses. She rolled him onto his side and curled against his chest, tucking her head under his chin and holding him tightly to her. He responded in kind, wrapping her in his arms and holding her firmly. 

He could already feel his exhaustion threatening him. He was too fulfilled, this bone-deep satisfaction causing him to sink heavily into Anara's bed.

"You were right about one thing," Anara said softly against his chest. 

"Hmmm," he murmured. "And what is that?"

"You are definitely a fast learner."

He laughed and squeezed his arms around her. "I am glad to hear it."


	33. The Swan Song

_"Occideite eos omnes, Fenris."_

_"No," Fenris begged as the words echoed through his mind and brought to life the rage he had long thought he stamped out. "No, please."_

_"You heard me," Danarius growled. "You are mine, you little fool. You will do as I say!"_

_"You can't take him," the Fog Warriors roared._

_"He no longer bends to you, human."_

_Fenris could feel his breath coming faster and faster, he could see the glow of his lyrium, he could hear his heartbeat starting to thrum against his ribs. It was too late. It was too late and he knew it._

_"That's it, Fenris," Danarius crooned, reaching out to stroke his hair. "You are a monster, little wolf. Do what you were meant to do."_

_Fenris clenched his hands around the hilt of a sword. His sword. The sword he hadn't held for so long now. It felt right in his hands. It felt powerful._

_He whirled around on the Fog Warriors, barely able to recognize them through the haze of bloodlust. His lips peeled back in a snarl as he raised his sword up and cleaved through the first of those he called allies. Even as they tried to take out Danarius, they were felled by Fenris' blade. He listened to their screams, he could smell their blood spilling into pools at his feet._

_One by one they fell. Fenris didn't acknowledge their confused pleas, he didn't grant mercy for those closest to him, and he didn't think to stop. It was inevitable, he told himself. Fighting did nothing, it only dragged out something that could not be stopped. So as the rage overtook him, he sank further into himself, hiding himself away and letting his body do the only thing it knew how to do. The anguished cries became muffled sounds as he carved a path through the innocents without a second thought._

_Fenris roared when something hard and blunt hit him in the back, and he reached into the offenders chest and pulled their heart out as though he were plucking a piece of fruit from a tree. It was all too easy to simply force himself not to see them. They were just targets, inevitable victims to his uncontrollable rage. If he was stronger, maybe he could have fought his own weakness, but he knew better than to try. All that did was fuel his anger further. All that did was make more victims._

_So he killed them. He killed them all, looking at them without actually seeing them._

_"Fenris, stop!"_

_His vision cleared only briefly as golden eyes peered up into his face. He had Anara pinned up against the rocky wall of the cave by her shoulders._

_"Fenris," she begged, her eyes full of fear and sadness. "Fenris, it's me."_

_"Kill her, Fenris!" Danarius bellowed. "Do not deny what you are!"_

_"No, I..." Fenris unclenched his hands from her tunic. "Anara I... I'm sorry."_

_Hands, familiar and cold, settled on his shoulders from behind. "She knows what you are now," Danarius growled. "She looks at you as one does a murderer."_

_"Fenris, no, I... I was just frightened."_

_"Of you," Danarius added. "She fears you, Fenris. Rightfully so. You are a monster."_

_"I am **not** ," Fenris growled, his shoulders tensing under the sensation of Danarius' hands._

_"Occideite. Eos. Omnes! "_

_Those words. They haunted him. They never failed to bring out the animal. It was how he'd been trained. Years and years of torture and sorrow all bubbling to the surface in the form of his fierce and terrifying rage._

_He didn't even know that he had reached into Anara's chest until he had already done so. Her eyes went wide with a mixture of fear and anguish, she cried out in pain as his gauntleted hand squeezed around her heart._

_"F-fenris..." she croaked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why?"_

_"No. No-no-no-no," he pleaded, catching her as she slumped against him. His eyes burning with unshed tears instead of rage. "I'm sorry. Anara, I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean it!"_

_She went limp in his arms and Fenris dropped to his knees as he held her against his chest. Her cold, lifeless, golden eyes staring up at him accusingly._

* * *

The sound of the desperate, anguished scream tearing out of Fenris' throat was what jarred him from sleep. He sat up like a shot in the unfamiliar bed, soaked in sweat as the echo of the scream played in his head. He hadn't actually called out, he realized, but it was a near thing. He looked around to gauge where he was, his sharp eyes focusing in the dark, when he heard a soft sound to his right. 

He turned and saw Hawke, her face pale and peaceful in the moonlight that streamed through the window. She was none the wiser, blissfully ignorant to his panic. Fenris hung his face in his hands and felt the muscles of his shoulders shivering. He had been planning on saying goodbye to her when he climbed onto her balcony. He'd had the words rehearsed in his mind, had known exactly what he was going to say. He hadn't expected her to lovingly dry his hair or deftly remove his armor as if picking apart the fortress inside of him piece by piece. 

When he had tried to leave and she stopped him, all he could think was that there was nothing he wouldn't give to kiss her one last time. Her kisses from the previous night had not only set him aflame, but completed a part of him that he'd never realized was unfinished. He'd wanted that one last time before he left, just to feel that happiness again, if only briefly, so he could hold onto it forever. 

He had never meant for it to go so far. Her sweet, pleading kisses and soft touches had demolished whatever was left of his defenses and he gave himself over to the sweet insanity she ignited in him. The draw between them had been powerful for so long, maybe it had only been a matter of time before they were brought together so intimately. 

It had gone too far, however. While he could not in a million years bring himself to regret it, it changed nothing. He had planned on leaving when he had climbed her balcony, and he planned on leaving still. It could not be avoided any longer. Danarius was getting too close and Anara was too emotionally invested to stay away. He had to leave before she saw him for what he was. He had to leave before she got hurt. Danarius would not hesitate to use her against him if the opportunity presented itself. His feelings for Anara were too great a liability, and she would be the one that paid for it. 

He could not allow it.

Slowly, he pulled the edge of blanket up her side so it fell around her shoulders again. She stirred quietly and settled further into her pillow, but she didn't wake up. He tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear before bending down to kiss her cheek. If he were the praying type, he imagined he would have prayed then. For her safety, her happiness, and above all else, her forgiveness. 

Fenris slowly slid out of the bed and began to dress. His feet felt heavy as he moved, his clothes were cold and stiff from the rain. He didn't want to do this, but that didn't matter. It was the only way. 

Once he had dressed, he stoked the fire back to a small blaze and stood staring into it. He was obviously a coward, but he was not so big a coward as to leave without explaining himself. He owed her more than that. 

So Fenris lowered himself into the large red chair and watched the flames dance, elbows on his knees and ice in his heart. It felt as though something were sitting on his chest; a physical weight that made his breathing labored. He glanced to the right and saw her armor in a pile on the floor. She must have been worried about him to have left her precious armor in such a state: it was usually painstakingly folded not discarded in a heap. He spotted the red sash she always wore around her waist and reached for it, holding it across his palm. He remembered how this simple piece of fabric had been the only reason she survived when Anders had thrown her into the sea. If not for this one quirk of color she wore, Fenris might never have seen her in the briny black water. He smiled ruefully, running the material through his fingers.

Fenris told himself over and over again that this was for the best, that her safety was all that mattered, that he would come back to her when it was all over. It didn't matter though; in his heart, he knew he was already grieving the loss of her companionship. In his heart, he knew that this would likely be the end of something he had only recently allowed himself to hope for.

He thought about the way she would smile at him when he walked into a room she was already in. He thought of the way her presence alone could slowly bring him from sleep. He thought of her shaking with fear in his arms while he taught her to swim. He thought of the way rage would slightly darken the color of her fiery eyes. He thought of seeing her at the masquerade ball and how it had stopped him cold. He thought about her fingers tracing the lines of his markings, and the glisten of joyful tears in her eyes.

He would miss her desperately, more than he ever did the Fog Warriors or his companions in Tevinter. A part of him would forever remain empty so long as they were apart. He hoped she wouldn't hate him. He hoped she would understand one day. 

Fenris found a small tear in the fabric of the sash as he idly ran it through his hands. He laughed softly. It fit, somehow, this tiny gash in the otherwise perfect garment. In a moment of impulsiveness, he tugged the scarf apart, tearing the hole down the length of it until a thin sliver had come free. He abandoned the larger piece onto the pile of her armor, holding the thin piece of it in his palm. He didn't know how much time had passed as he sat there staring at the little swath of red fabric, but he heard Anara stir a good while later. He turned to look at her and he felt something wrench in his chest when she reached out for him. The bed was probably cold where his body used to be.

"Fenris?" she asked groggily. 

"I am here," he said softly, turning back to the piece of her sash in his hand. He began slowly wrapping it around his palm. Like a bandage. 

He could see her turn over her shoulder in his peripheral vision, and she sat up in bed when she realized he wasn't in it. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice thick and raspy from sleep. 

"No," he said, tucking in the end of the scrap of fabric so it stayed in place. "Everything is not alright."

The silence was tense for a few moments before her nervous laughter broke it. "Was I really that bad?"

He scoffed at the ridiculous notion, as if she weren't perfectly aware at how amazing their night together had been. "It isn't that," he said, slowly standing from the chair. 

Fenris saw her eyes settle on his armor and she pulled the quilt up against her bare chest to cover herself. 

"You're leaving."

"Yes."

Her throat moved as she swallowed convulsively. "You don't mean the mansion, do you?"

"No."

The motion of her jaw and throat flexing to fight off her emotions felt like getting kicked in the chest. 

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know," he admitted, turning to look into the flames again. "Only that I must."

"But why?" she asked loudly. "Have I done something wrong?"

He closed his eyes and tried to steel himself. The tremor in her voice was devastating. 

"No, Anara. You've done nothing wrong, you must know that."

"Then why? Why leave now? After... after..."

"I started to remember," he said softly, turning to face her, latching onto the only reasoning he could find. "My life from before, I mean."

"I don't understand."

"It was just... images... flashes." He swallowed and looked down at his gloved hands picking at each other. "It is too much, too fast. I cannot... do this." He wanted so desperately to explain, to banish that fear from her eyes, but he couldn't. Tell her he was only trying to protect her would just make her protest. Like she always did, her pulling away would only make her latch on harder. 

"We can... we can work through this, Fenris," she said, clenching the blanket to her chest tighter. "I didn't mean to rush you."

"No, it isn't that..." he pushed his hair back and turned toward the fire, trying to think of something she would accept. "For a second I could... I could recall all of it. Faces, names..." _Corpses_. "You don't seem to grasp how upsetting this is."

"I thought you _wanted_ your memories back."

_Not these memories._

"I refuse to have everything only for it to slip through my fingers," he said, picturing Hawke's lifeless eyes as he held her in his arms. "To have it only... only to lose it. I can't..." he turned back to look at her. "I can't."

She laughed bitterly and turned away, shaking her head. "You never planned on staying, did you?"

That wasn't true, but he knew if he said otherwise, it would only fuel her argument for him to stay. "What I need is not here, Anara."

The way she looked at the ceiling to keep the tears in her eyes came very close to breaking him. He clenched his hands into fists and reminded himself for the hundredth time that hour that it was all for her.

"Go, then," she jeered, clenching the blanket to herself like armor. "You got what you came for, Fenris. You obviously don't need me anymore."

"Anara..."

"No. If you're... if you're going to go, then go. Don't give me the run around. I've had enough of that in my lifetime."

He felt his throat close up at the implication that he had only come here to use her just like her previous lover had done. He wanted to dig his heels in and argue that this was different, that it was for her own good, that he would burn Kirkwall to the ground to protect her. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her until she saw sense, or lost it. He wanted to prove that his feelings were granted to her and her alone and that no one would ever effect him as she had done...

... But what was the point? She had made her decision, and unless he let her believe it, she would never let him leave. 

"I'm sorry," he said softly, trying to force the tremor out of his voice. He turned and headed for her door. "All I wanted was to be happy just... for a little while." 

It seemed like an eternity that he sat there staring at his hand on the door handle. He could stop this. He could turn around and throw himself at her feet and beg forgiveness. He could explain his motives, he could consign himself to life at her side come hell or high water. It could be them against the world, come what may. 

Perhaps, like everything else, it was inevitable.

"Forgive me," he said as he stepped through the door and shut it behind him. 

The sound of the door closing would echo in his mind for the rest of his life, he was certain. As Fenris stepped out into the rain and walked toward the city gate, he watched the familiar store fronts pass. He didn't know where he'd go, he didn't know when Danarius would find him or if he would survive the encounter. He didn't know if Anara would forgive him if and when he returned. There was so much he didn't know. 

He looked up at the city gate then turned around to look at the abandoned streets of what had been his home for five years. It all seemed so empty. It all seemed so cold.

As Fenris turned and stepped out of Kirkwall, he sent up a silent prayer that tonight would not have been the last time he laid eyes on Anara Hawke.

* * *

_What I need is not here, Anara._

_What I need is not **you.**_

She commended herself on her ability to keep from crying until he left. She sat up in her bed, clutching the sheet to her chest as she listened to the front door of her parlor open and shut before falling back onto her pillows and letting the tears fall freely. 

He had been calling her a fool for so long, but this certainly drove it home. She pulled the quilt up over her face and cried into it, clawing into it like it would ease the pain. Last time had been easier because there had been rage to stamp out the pain, but now what did she have? Just a cold bed and proof that she wasn't good enough. 

It was all so surreal. She could still feel his hands on her, could still hear his voice and taste the sweat on his skin. Now he was just... gone. She had warned him of this, damn him. She had said that venturing into romance would ruin their relationship. She had foreseen this end and still he had pressed on. She wondered if he had planned on leaving when he climbed onto her balcony that night, or if her lovemaking had been what finally drove him away. Was getting into her bed simply a charming benefit, a last thrill before he threw her love into the mud? Or was it pity that had driven him into her arms for a final time before he finally rid himself of her burden?

She didn't know, and she didn't care. She loved him, oh how she loved him, but what could she do? He had made it clear that he did not want to be in Kirkwall. He had not offered to bring her with him. What he 'needed' apparently had to be done alone.

_Alone again, Anara_ , she thought as she watched the sun come up outside her window. She remembered watching the sunrise from Fenris' roof. She remembered how he had filled in a piece of her heart that had always been missing that night. The memory used to make her heart flutter with giddy anticipation. Now, she _ached_. She had so many memories from the past five years that she had been secretly treasuring, and now they were just more painful memories, more proof that everyone she loved eventually left or was taken from her.

She remembered how her father used to tell her that tears were worthless, that they never solved anything and when she felt like crying she should just run instead. 

But she couldn't. Her strength was gone. Even if she had wanted to get out of bed to run, she felt like her limbs wouldn't support her. 

_Worthless_ , she thought. _How accurate._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me like that. You knew it was coming.


	34. The Hero

It was the longest winter of Fenris' life, and he'd had some very long ones. 

He made his way all the way down to a small town east of Val Chevin before he finally decided to stop. He was right on the border of Orlais and Nevarra; far enough away from Tevinter to stay hidden, but close enough that he might be able to make some inquiries about Varania. 

He still had a rather large amount of gold from his trip into the Deep Roads with Hawke five years ago, and he used it to purchase himself a permanent room for the year at the inn just on the coast. He'd abandoned the idea of taking up work as a mercenary; it would require too much travel and draw too much attention. Instead, Fenris simply found employment at the docks. He had learned more things from Varric than he was willing to admit to himself, one of them being that dockworkers were some of the most well informed people in a city. Gossip was one of the few entertainments that they had to pass the hours of grueling work. Since he'd gotten the idea from Varric, in a moment of panic that was the name he'd used instead of his own when asked. 

Fenris found it rather rewarding; receiving a day's pay for a day's work. It was completely foreign to him. He was already wealthier than any of the other workers, but it didn't matter, he wasn't working for money. He was working for information, to stay under the radar, to disappear. Being an elf didn't hold anyone's attention for long once everyone realized he was willing to do the same amount of work as them and keep his mouth shut while he did it. Eventually he fell into a rather comforting routine. He would work during the day, often going to the pub with his fellow workers afterward, and then he would stare at the ocean from his window. 

... And he would think of Anara.

It was a few months after he left that he felt that tell tale uneasiness in his stomach bringing him out of sleep. He said her name as he was pulled into consciousness, knowing she was nearby, feeling her presence as he always did... but when he opened his eyes and looked around the room, she wasn't there. The feeling in his stomach faded, and faded quickly, and he realized it was simply wishful thinking. He felt her presence because he _wanted_ to. He wanted her to be there, he wanted to be near her, he wanted her to have found him and bring him home. 

_Home,_ he thought with a rueful smile, putting his hands behind his head and laying back. It was humorous that he referred to Kirkwall that way in his mind. He never remembered a time when Tevinter had been 'home' to him. He didn't have Anara in Tevinter. Anara was what made Kirkwall home. 

He fell back asleep with Varric's words in his mind. 

_Home is where the heart is, elf._

So it would seem.

* * *

It had been half a year since Fenris had left Kirkwall. His skin had grown darker from working long hours in the sun, and his shaggy white hair now fell around his shoulders, often needing to be tied behind his head with the ribbon of Anara's scarf he kept around his wrist. His fellow dockworkers considered him a friend, regardless that he spoke rarely. He found they were rather like Varric in that they liked to hear themselves talk more than actually engage in conversation, which suited Fenris just fine. 

It was a night like any other at the pub. He was sitting at the bar, nursing a tankard of ale, staring into it and wondering what Anara was doing. Was she playing Wicked Grace with Varric? Were they murdering slavers by night and pleasing the gentry during the day? 

... Did she miss him?

Fenris sighed and put his forehead in his hand, propping his elbow on the bar. What a mess everything had become. He had abandoned his only home in hopes of finding a long lost sister that he wasn't sure existed, hurting the only person he truly cared about in order to protect her, all while not getting any closer to figuring out how he was going to deal with Danarius. 

"Are you finding any answers in that mead?" someone asked him. 

Fenris turned to see a red headed human sitting beside him. He was tall, taller than any other human Fenris had come across, except maybe that Templar, whatever his name was. This man had broad shoulders even without armor, his frame solid and muscular. His short red hair was the color of a burning coal, and it dusted his chin and jaw with stubble as well. His eyes were green and Fenris thought they looked surprisingly kind, but he'd been fooled before. He was obviously a traveler or some kind of merchant because Fenris had never seen him before and the town wasn't very big. Even if he didn't know everyone personally, he had memorized their faces. 

"Not the answers I want," Fenris said before turning back to his drink. 

"I find that the answers you look for in your drink are the answers that are hardest to find in it," the man said, swatting Fenris on the back as if they were friends. He ordered a drink and sipped it in silence before turning to Fenris again. "Derrick," he said. 

"Varric," Fenris replied. He side-eyed the man before taking another long drink. "What brings you to Val Chevin? I have not seen you before."

"I am merely passing through," Derrick said with a shrug. "I am on my way to Kirkwall."

Fenris' felt his ears twitch and he turned to look at the man beside him. He had to stay on his guard. Just because he was under the radar didn't mean Danarius couldn't find him. He always did. "Is that so?" Fenris asked, thinking he sounded suitably bored.

"Have you been there?"

"I stopped there for a time once," he said with a shrug. 

"I've never been. I've heard the talk of war, so I'm going to scope it out before a friend of mine makes his way there. Can never be too careful now a days."

"You say there is talk of war? In Kirkwall?"

"Oh, aye," Derrick said after taking a large gulp of beer. "They're saying the qunari are planning to take over the city. There's been little skirmishes here and there, but I fear it's all leading to a much bigger problem." 

"War with the qunari would not end well for Kirkwall," Fenris said softly, his mind already racing with the possibilities. Hawke and her team were good, but he didn't know if they were good enough to save the town from the qunari if they wanted to take it, and he knew damn well Hawke would not simply surrender. He drummed his fingers on his tankard as he started to go over their options.

"You seem troubled by the idea," the man said.

"I have friends in Kirkwall," he said simply. "I do not wish them to come to harm anymore than you do yours."

"I see... well you should come back with me then. Always better to travel in company. Safer, you know. Why would you want to stay here anyhow? Only sociopaths prefer drinking alone to drinking with friends."

Fenris looked at him only briefly before taking another drink. "I left Kirkwall, and have not yet found a reason to return."

"Ahhh, this is about a woman, then."

Fenris' head snapped to the side to look at him. 

"Or a man?" Derrick asked, putting his hands up. "I certainly don't judge. Travelled with all kinds in my day." 

Fenris narrowed his eyes and returned his attention to his drink, but said nothing. 

"Ah, love, it makes a man a fool doesn't it?" Derrick shook his head and drank his beer. "If your lover is in Kirkwall, is it safe to assume they kicked you out?"

"I left on my own," Fenris growled, not liking how he was getting defensive. "It is none of your business."

"True enough," Derrick said with a sigh. "Forgive me for prying. His Majesty has been telling me for years that my it is a terrible habit of mine that is highly annoying."

"His Majesty?" Fenris asked, arching an eyebrow. "His Majesty _the king_?" 

"The very one."

"The king of _Ferelden_?"

"Of course," Derrick said with a shrug. "Who else?"

"You are Derrick Cousland then?"

"Oh, you've heard of me?" the man asked with a wide grin and an arching eyebrow. 

"I have a friend who likes to tell stories," Fenris said simply.

"And do I live up to them?"

Fenris eyed him suspiciously. He'd heard of Derrick Cousland from Varric's ridiculous tales of him. He knew very well Varric had never actually met the hero of Ferelden, still what he had heard seemed to be accurate as far as Varric's rumors went. 

Fenris turned back to his drink. "I thought you'd be taller."

Derrick tossed his head back in a loud shout of laughter, smacking Fenris on the back again. "I like you, Varric," he said. "You've got spirit."

Fenris rolled out his shoulder from where the larger man had tried to smack the air out of his lungs.

"So these 'friends' you are protecting by going to Kirkwall..."

"King Alistair is one of them, yes. He and I have been through much together. I swore to protect him when I put him on the throne, and in this case it means going to Kirkwall to see if it's safe for him to be there." 

"How very noble of you," Fenris drawled. 

"I find it extremely unfair that you have heard of me and my exploits and yet you will not tell me of your lover in Kirkwall and why you abandoned them."

"I did not _abandon_ her."

"Ah, so it _is_ a woman then."

Fenris scoffed and tried to keep himself in check. He couldn't let his lyrium start glowing. Talk of a glowing elf would do nothing but attract Danarius and his hunters.

"If you didn't abandon her, then you must be running from her," Derrick said smoothly, taking another drink of mead. "So you're not a heart breaker, you are a coward?"

"For a proclaimed 'Hero' you are coming dangerously close to finding yourself missing teeth."

Derrick laughed again. Fenris wondered if this human thought everything was a game. "It would be so much easier for you to just tell me. I am nosey by nature, and stubborn to boot. I will do nothing but annoy you until you relinquish the information." 

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is it, exactly, you wish to know?"

"Why did you leave?"

"To protect her," he said succinctly. 

"Well, that's just nonsense. You left to protect yourself, not her."

"And how would _you_ know?" Fenris sneered. 

"Because if you were worried about protecting _her_ you would be in Kirkwall where there is very likely a qunari uprising. How can you protect her from here? Surely it's easier to protect someone if you are with them."

Fenris said nothing, his jaw setting in frustration as he slowly spun his tankard in his hand. 

"Unless," the man said slowly. "You think you are protecting her from _you_."

"I have wolves at my back," Fenris admitted softly. "That is all I will say on the matter."

"Ah, now we come to the heart of it." Derrick got the bartender's attention and got a fresh pint for each of them before finishing off his first one. "So you're afraid whatever is coming for you will eventually come after her."

Fenris glared at him, but didn't answer. 

"Quite selfish, don't you think?"

Again Fenris was silent, but this time out of confusion. "Excuse me?"

Derrick shrugged. "Seems a mite selfish to me, is all."

"And how do you figure?" Fenris asked, turning to face him. "I am doing this for her."

"Let us turn this around, hmm?" Derrick said, leaning his elbow on the bar. "Let's say, for argument's sake, the situations are reversed. She has some dark, dark baddies who want to wear her kidneys like hats or whatever. They are not above using you to get to her, so what does she do? She runs so that she can take on the burden. Alone. Without you. To protect you. Thereby robbing you of your chance to help her when she needs it. How does that make you feel?"

Fenris felt his expression drop as he thought about it. He thought about the dwarves from the Carta and how Anara had planned on storming the compound without him. He thought about his refusal to be left behind. He thought of the dread he'd felt when he'd learned the dwarves had attacked her home when he wasn't there.

Fenris sighed and looked down into his empty mug, then moved it aside and took the new one Derrick had ordered for him. 

"You must love her very much," Derrick said softly, "to be such a fool for her."

Fenris made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded rather like a growl and decided to drown it in ale. 

"Has adventuring become so boring that you have taken up occupation as a therapist?" Fenris snapped.

Derrick chuckled and shook his head. "I can never seem to mind my own business. _My_ lover says I am bound to get a few more fists to the face because of it."

"She sounds very wise."

Derrick nodded as he took a drink. "And unable to make me forget it, I assure you."

* * *


	35. The Return

Varric lounged back in his chair with his feet on the table as Hawke paced back and forth, hands behind her back. Isabella straddled her chair gracelessly and Aveline was a large, foreboding omen leaning against the back wall. 

"Here I am," Merrill sang as she walked into the room, though she instantly took in the somber mood and tilted her head to the side. "Oh, dear. Bad news, then?"

"Seamus is dead," Aveline said. 

"Who?"

"The Viscount's son, Kitten," Isabella helped, her eyes still on the pacing Hawke.

"Oh, no. He was such a nice boy. How?"

"That attractive Chantry mother, Patrice, killed him and tried to make it look like the Qunari."

Hawke shot Isabela a quelling glare. 

"What?" she asked, spreading her hands with a small shrug. "I have a type."

"You most certainly do not," Varric added. 

"Alright, fine, I thought she was sexy in an evil kind of way, but I didn't think she was more sexy than evil, so can we move on?"

Hawke rolled her eyes and ran her hand across her forehead. 

"What happened to Patrice then?" Merrill asked.

"The Qunari killed her," Hawke said distractedly. "To avenge Seamus. Good lord, this is such a tangled up mess."

"We must step very carefully," Aveline supplied. "A single push in the wrong direction-"

"Yes, thank you, madam obvious," Hawke snapped. 

Varric sighed through his nose and pulled his feet down from the table. He'd been watching Hawke's downward spiral for months now. Ever since the elf left, Hawke had been sinking further and further into herself. It was like the problems of the city were now physical weights on her shoulders. Her posture lacked its usual pride, her movements lacked their usual precision; it was unnerving. He tried to cheer her up with his usual flawless charm, but there was nothing for it. Hawke's self-loathing got a little worse every day, and she had begun to focus all her energy on solving the Qunari crisis.

_Qunari Crisis,_ Varric thought. He liked the sound of that. He would have to remember it for later. 

For now, though, Hawke worried Varric immensely. Her determination to save the city had started to remind him of the way Bartrand had talked about the idol when they finally tracked him back to the city. Less jabbering and nonsense, obviously, but the same 'anything for the endgame' type of logic. Varric would be the first to admit that he loved life in Kirkwall, but he was beginning to fear that Hawke was only too eager to die defending it. 

"With Patrice dead, both sides are temporarily satisfied," Varric offered, rather diplomatically he thought. "Perhaps we should take this opportunity to regroup."

"There's no _time_ for that," Hawke said, slamming her palms onto the table. She leaned onto her palms and sank heavily into her shoulders, exhaling a breath that Varric was sure was supposed to be a sigh but came out more of a groan.

Varric remained silent and turned to regard the rest of their companions. He motioned his head to the door, and one by one they all started to filter out of the room. 

"Hawke..." Varric said once everyone had left. 

"Don't," she said softly. "I am not in the mood."

"You can't keep this up. You need to sleep."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"At the rate you're going, you're not talking about the distant future."

She scoffed and threw herself into a chair across from him. Her raven hair was coming out of her pony tail in messy strands and her eyes had a distant, far away quality to them. She propped her elbow up on the arm of her chair and started to bite her nails as she looked at the wall, thinking Maker-only-knew-what. 

"Hawke. You're killing yourself. The whole city doesn't sit on your shoulders." 

"I need to fix this," she said softly, shaking her head but still not looking at him. "I need to figure it out."

"Why you? There are templars and the city guard and the Viscount and _plenty_ of other people invested in solving the Qunari crisis." It sounded even better aloud. "This is the city's problem. Not yours alone."

"No one else has the rapport with the Arishok that I have," she said with a negligent, one-shouldered shrug. "It has to be me. I have to save them."

"I get that you want to save everyone, but why are you trying to take on the responsibility for all of Kirkwall?"

"Because I have to," she snapped. "Because if I can't do this, what's the point? Because if, after everything, I can't save the city, what good am I?"

It was rare for Varric to genuinely care about anyone enough for their words to hurt him. Their opinions of him never mattered because he knew exactly who and what he was. Bianca loved him. That was enough. 

No, someone's opinion of him never got under his skin. It was Hawke's opinion of _herself_ that hurt him.

"Hawke..." he began.

"Shut up," she cut in, standing to make her way for the door.

He scrambled to his feet and snatched her hand, forcing her to stop and turn around. She looked down at him with her cold, distant eyes and Varric did the only thing he could think of. He threw his arms around her waist and hugged her. He hugged her because he knew what loss felt like. He hugged her because he couldn't just _tell_ her that he knew her pain. He hugged her because for the first time in a long time, his words just wouldn't be good enough. 

As his arms squeezed around her waist, he felt her hands fall onto his shoulders. She pulled away, but only briefly before she fell onto her knees and wrapped him in her arms. 

"Ah, Hawke," Varric said as he held her around her back. "Come on, now. Everything's going to be alright. You've still got me." 

She laughed, but it was a sad, defeated kind of sound. "What would I do without my trusty dwarf?" she asked from over his shoulder, her voice wavering. 

"Don't get sentimental on me," he teased. "You know I can't stand to see a human cry."

* * *

"Varric!" the hero shouted, waving his hand too enthusiastically from the gate. 

Fenris rolled his eyes as he strapped his sword to his back and approached the gate. It had been so long since he'd felt the weight of his weapon and armor. It was almost alien to him, but it was also comforting. He was going home. 

He was going back to Anara.

"I knew you would make the right decision," Derrick said, swatting Fenris on the back as he approached. It was undoubtedly meant to be a friendly gesture but it almost knocked the wind out of him. 

"If the uprising is inevitable, I owe it to my friends to lend my aid," he said simply, rolling out his shoulders.

"And you are worried for your bonny lass, aye?" Derrick asked, nudging him with his elbow.

"She can take care of herself and then some," Fenris grumbled. "I'm sure she is safe."

"Ah, but you are going back anyway. Amazing how illogical love can make a man, hmm? I was once a very sensible young man."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Of course you do, because it's not true." Derrick laughed and hoisted his own halberd onto his back as he started to follow after Fenris. "It will be good to have a friend to travel with again."

"We are _not_ friends," Fenris growled.

"Of course we are. We're travelling together."

"Maker, are you always this annoying? I don't know how your companions followed you."

Derrick let a single shout of laughter. "Begrudgingly, I assure you." 

Fenris had hoped rather than expected it to be a quiet journey back to Kirkwall. He was prepared to sink into his thoughts of what he would say to Anara when he saw her. What could he say? What were the proper words to soothe the hurt he had probably caused? He wasn't a fool. He'd seen the tears in her eyes when he walked away, heard the tremor in her voice. It had haunted him lo these eight months. It would probably haunt him the rest of his days. More than the paralyzing fear when she had been blasted into the ocean, more than the heated rage when Anders had held her up by her throat; Anara's voice wavering as she told him to go was going to echo through his mind every time he closed his eyes. 

Unfortunately, or perhaps luckily, Fenris rarely got an opportunity to stew in his guilt. Derrick was more talkative than Varric, and nosier than Hawke by half. He was insightful in a way that Fenris found infuriating. No matter how Fenris avoided a question, the warrior would still somehow pull the correct answer out of him. 

It was the fourth day of their trek when they had been foolishly attacked by bandits. Their combined strength was nothing to be trifled with, and Fenris was at least glad that the Hero's fighting ability hadn't been exaggerated, since his poise and refinement certainly had been. 

"I am telling you, Varric," he said as he cleaned his sword by firelight. "She is not going to be interested in your apologies."

"Hmph," Fenris replied, covering his eyes with his forearm as he tried to sleep. "Just as I am not interested in your advice."

"Of course you are. I'm very wise."

"That has yet to be seen."

"Apologizing will do nothing but make her demand answers," Derrick warned. "And you have already mentioned how vehemently you do not wish to give her any."

"Are you going to be making a point any time soon?"

"Just come clean, you thundering fool. You look her in the eyes and you say... Marianne..."

"Her name is _not_ Marianne."

"Be quite, I'm improvising," Derrick snapped before continuing in his best dramatic tone. "Marianne, I was a fool and a coward and would that I could turn back time and stay with you."

"That sounds an awful lot like an apology," Fenris grumbled as he turned onto his side away from the fire.

"But it's not actually."

"You are a moron."

* * *

"Arishok, please," Hawke was saying. "We are only attempting to keep the peace. There's... no need for hostilities."

"The elves are now viddithari. They _will_ be protected," the Arishok growled. 

"You can't just decide that on your own," Aveline defended. "They are fugitives trying to escape justice!"

"Kirkwall justice," the Qunari spat back.

"Aveline, please," Hawke warned.

"Tell me, Hawke. What would you do in my place?" he asked, hoisting his menacing looking blade on his shoulder. 

Hawke sighed and pulled her hood and mask down, stepping in front of Aveline and her guards. "Arishok, we aren't trying to fight you. We only want to protect our people, surely you realize that."

"You protect them from their salvation," the Arishok rumbled. "What they are now is the lowest they can _possibly_ go."

"They are not your concern," Hawke said, taking another step forward, hands out imploringly. "If our people are just the filth you believe them to be, then they are no responsibility of yours. Just... leave the city and you will be rid of us."

"I cannot leave without the relic!" the Arishok bellowed. "And I cannot _stay_ and remain blind to this... dysfunction."

"Arishok..."

"No... there is only one solution."

"Arishok, please," Hawke begged, stepping toward him again. 

"Hawke," Aveline called, already backing up as she watched the Qunari readying their weapons. 

"Don't do this, I'll... I'll get the relic back for you."

"It is too late for that," he said, turning his back to her and walking away. He motioned his head to his men. _"Vinekkathas."_

"No, wait!" 

The sound of a spear slicing through the armor of one of the guards made Hawke's stomach turn. Instinctively she reached for her daggers, but the hostiles were everywhere and had the higher ground. This didn't end well for them.

"Hawke, we need to get out of here!" Aveline shouted as she fell back with her guards who were dropping one at a time. 

"Don't do this," Hawke said, already knowing her appeal was all but useless. 

The Arishok just turned and leveled his icy, threatening glare on her. There was no stopping this, she realized. He'd foreseen this outcome for years, probably. To him, it was inevitable, and there was nothing she could do about it. She spun her daggers in her hand and lowered her stance, preparing to charge him.

A loud clang next to her head got her attention as a sword came down to deflect a spear that had been aimed right for her. She turned and saw the very last thing she thought she would see. 

"Not here," Fenris said, gripping the back of her vest and starting to pull her toward the exit. "We are too exposed."

"Fenris..."

He swung his sword in an arc to protect her from another spear before turning to look at her. Those same green eyes, that same cool, steely expression; his hair was longer, his skin was a shade darker, but it was him. He had come back. 

She didn't know whether to kiss him or slap him. 

_"Go!"_ he demanded.

Anara's feet were moving before she even registered the action. Most of the guards Aveline had brought were dead, and the three of them just barely managed to get out of the compound with a few other guards in tow. The shock of seeing Fenris again would have to wait. As much as she wanted to throttle him and demand why he'd been gone so long, as much as she wanted to throw her arms around him and thank the Maker that he was alive, now wasn't the time and they both knew it.

"We need to regroup," Hawke said as they ran.

"They're going to take the city," Fenris said. "They will make for the Keep."

"Then we must get to Lowtown." 

"I need to get to the barracks," Aveline said. "I need to warn my men."

Hawke nodded and stopped at the top of the stairs. "Be careful, Aveline."

"You too," she said, putting her hand on Hawke's shoulder before turning to Fenris with a small, amused smile. "Just couldn't stay away from Kirkwall after all, hmm?"

"Kirkwall had nothing to do with it," Fenris said, shaking Aveline's hand.

Fenris and Hawke both watched Aveline run toward Hightown, then turned to make way for the Hanged Man. "You get Varric," Hawke said. "I will collect Merrill and meet you there."

"Very well," he said. "Make haste. The Qunari will move quickly."

"Have you merely forgotten who you're talking to? Or did Val Chevin rot your brain? Haste is what I do."

He grabbed her arm to stop her from running. "How did you know I was in Val Chevin?"

_Shit._

She swallowed and stuttered for an excuse, but he saw through her instantly. Just like he'd used to.

"You found me," he said softly. "You were there that night. In my room."

Hawke put her shoulders back and yanked her arm out of his grasp. "What of it?"

"Anara..."

The sound of her name being said in the familiar baritone cause a reaction that she had told herself she had long stamped out. She narrowed her eyes to cover it up. 

"We're wasting time," she snapped. "Go get Varric."

"Very well," he said, releasing her arm. "Now is not the time."

"Agreed," she said as they turned to go their separate ways. "Oh, and Fenris..."

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. 

She punched him in the face. 

"I'm glad you're not dead."


	36. The Misunderstanding

Fenris stepped through the door of the Hanged Man with an odd sense of relief. Despite the coming storm outside, the pub hadn't changed since he'd last stepped foot in it. Even the faces were the same. He didn't know why he was surprised, in the five years he had lived in Kirkwall the Hanged Man seemed to be the only part of town that time just didn't touch.

He stepped into the too-familiar back room only to find Varric regaling a small group of people with another story of their adventures. Some things just never changed.

"Then Hawke walks in, rips the door clean off its hinges and-" the dwarf's expression dropped when he saw Fenris come through the doorway. "Elf?"

"Hello, Varric."

"We'll finish this later," Varric said, waving his hands dismissively so the people left. The dwarf trailed his eyes all the way down to Fenris' toes and back up, one eyebrow arched as if he were memorizing the moment so that he could appropriately retell it later. "Nice hair."

"The Qunari uprising has begun," Fenris said curtly, ignoring the sarcastic compliment. "I came to lend my aid." 

Varric sighed and reached back to tie his hair back. "Damn it, Rivaini," he cursed. "I was afraid of this."

"Isabela? Is she involved in this?"

"Do you remember the relic she wouldn't shut up about?"

"Vaguely." 

"It's why the Qunari are here. She stole some sacred book from them and they can't leave until they get it back."

"What?" Fenris asked, a little too loudly. This had all been Isabela's fault? His mind raced with the possibilities. Suddenly Hawke's words from four years ago seemed so much more poignant. 

_I don't trust her. I never have._

_She's just more concerned with her loins than her friendships._

"And where is she now?" Fenris demanded. "Why not just take it back?"

"Once we helped her track it down, she left the rest of us holding the bag and hightailed it out of the district." Varric exhaled and reached for Bianca where she was hanging up on the wall.

"That's it? After everything, she just... runs away?"

Varric arched one eyebrow. "Hit a little too close to home, does it, elf?" he asked, a layer of ice on his words that Fenris never remembered hearing before. "I assume by the fresh bruise on your jaw that you've already seen Hawke?"

Fenris swallowed and rubbed absently at the aching spot on his face. "I have, yes."

"Good," Varric said with a nod. "Then for the sake of expediency, I won't kick you in the shins. Let's go."

* * *

As the four of them fought their way through Lowtown, Anara decided that leaving Anders in Darktown would be the best decision because the people would all likely flee to Lowtown for safety. If any of them were wounded, it would do them good to have Anders there. 

It was amazing how quickly the Qunari had moved through the city. Even Fenris, who had known what they were capable of, was taken aback by how efficiently they had mobilized. The Arishok had to have been planning this attack for some time. They had a rather unsettling number of elf and human converts laying cover fire for them, and their mages were incredibly powerful. 

Fenris was beginning to wonder just how they were supposed to fight all the way to the keep when they found another Warden. This one went by the name of Stroud, a tall, mustachioed man with a thick accent. 

"You have our sincere thanks," the man said, once they had dispatched the last of a large group of Qunari. "This attack was... most unexpected."

"Varric?" asked the other warden from under his helmet. 

"Excuse me?" Varric asked. 

"Just what I need," Fenris growled under his breath. 

Derrick removed his helmet and smiled that wide, beaming smile of his. "Varric, my friend! I knew you would find your way into the fighting!"

Varric turned and glared at Fenris. "Why is there a Grey Warden calling you by my name?"

"It's... a long story," Fenris tried.

"But I can see your manners have not improved," the Grey Warden said with a laugh. "I am Derrick Cousland. This is Stroud and Domier."

Fenris could _feel_ the eyes of his companions. 

"Why is the blighted _Hero of Ferelden_ calling you by my name?" Varric demanded louder. 

Fenris groaned and consigned himself to the inevitable. "I met Cousland while I was away. I gave him a fake name like I gave everyone a fake name so I could not be tracked. I used your name on impulse."

"Your... your name isn't Varric?" the hero asked, tilting his head to the side rather like a dog. 

"No. My name is Fenris."

"You... lied to me?" Derrick asked. The moment seemed to stretch out too long before the Warden threw his arms around Fenris in a hug. "I forgive you," he said dramatically. "Desperate times, and all that."

Derrick pulled away and, not knowing what else to do, Fenris introduced everyone.

_"This_ is Varric," he said, motioning a hand to the dwarf. "This is Ha- erm... The Hawk, and this is Merrill." 

"Ah, _Merrill._ This must be your lady love then, aye?"

"His _what?"_ Merrill asked.

"Do not make me hurt you, Derrick," Fenris growled. "We have more important things to-"

"When I met Va— er, Fenris, he was staring into a mug of ale simply _pining_ for the lover he had left in Kirkwall. It was really very sweet," Derrick said, kissing the back of Merrill's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear."

Fenris swallowed convulsively and spared a glance at Hawke only to see she was already staring at him. He rolled out a shoulder and concentrated on shutting Derrick up. 

"You have to be mistaken," Merrill said, blushing all the way to her ears. "Fenris and I aren't... we don't... Fenris doesn't even _like_ me." 

"This isn't her?"

_"No, that isn't her!"_ Fenris barked before he could think better of it. Then he rubbed his eyes in frustration. 

"Andraste's braided leg hair, this is gold," Varric added. 

"I seem to remember something about the Qunari invading?" Fenris said, looking around at his companions for some kind of sanity, trying to bite down how his lyrium threatened to light up. That was the last thing he needed. "I believe there are more important matters at hand?"

"Of course, you're right, my friend," Derrick said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Though I am very disappointed in you for not rushing straight to the side of your bonny lass, considering how you were fretting for her safety the entire tri—"

_"Moving on,"_ Fenris growled. "Are the three of you going to help us defend the city or stand here asking about things that are none of your concern?"

"Right, well, we cannot get involved in the uprising any more than we already have," Stroud said, finally stepping back into the fray. "We are on a mission of grave importance that must be seen to immediately. We will send aid from the other free cities, however."

"Then you are wasting our time," Fenris snapped. He spared a glance at his companions and rolled his eyes when they were all looking at him with amused interest, then he stormed off toward the keep. They didn't have time for this. The city was under siege. 

"Take care of yourself, my friend!" Derrick called after him.

Fenris wished he had something to throw.

* * *

Any levity that had been brought on by meeting the Warden's had evaporated by the time they got to Hightown. The temporarily joined forced with Knight-Commander Meredith, much to the discomfort of everyone involved. They found First Enchanter Orsino along the way as well, and with him was Bethany. The sisters embraced and shared a silent, intimate exchange as Hawke held her sister's face in her hands and kissed her cheeks through her mask. 

They stormed the Keep, leaving the Knight-Commander, the First Enchanter, and their acolytes at the front door. Hawke wanted to bring Bethany with her, but she wasn't allowed out of the First Enchanter's sight. 

As if things weren't bad enough, it all came crashing down when they were forced to step over the severed head of Viscount Dumar to get into the central chamber. 

_"Shanedan,_ Hawke," the Arishok said as he slowly came down the stairs. "I expected you." 

Fenris instantly did not like their odds. There were too many civilians around, too many innocents. Aveline and her guards were barricaded in the barracks, and Fenris could hear them pounding uselessly against the large doors. If they could go to the other room and get them freed, depending on how many were still alive they might be able to defeat the rest of the Qunari, but unless the templars and mages came back to help them, the situation didn't look good for the four of them. 

_"Moraas toh ebra-shok,"_ the Arishok continued to Hawke as he hefted the large sword on his shoulder. "You alone are _basalit-an."_

Fenris made eye contact with Hawke when she looked at him. He nodded to her and hoped it conveyed that it was a good thing. 

"This is what respect looks like, _bas,”_ the Arishok said to the crowd. "Some of you will never earn it." He turned back to address Hawke just as she stepped forward to face him. "So tell me, Hawke. You know I am denied _Par Vollen_ until the Tome of Koslun is found. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?" 

Hawke looked around at all the expectant faces of the civilians and exhaled a hard breath. Before she could speak, however, the doors that had been sealed behind them burst open as Isabela herself sauntered into the room. 

"I believe I can answer that," she said with a swing of her hips, hefting the giant tome on her hip as she walked in. "Here's your giant book. Mostly undamaged." 

Hawke smiled under her mask as the Arishok reverently took the tome and handed it off. 

"This is your influence," Isabela grumbled out of the side of her mouth. "I was halfway to Ostwick when I couldn't stand it anymore. Pathetic really."

Fenris watched Hawke subtly reach out and entwine her and Isabela's fingers, and they shared a long moment of eye contact before turning back to the Arishok. 

"The relic is reclaimed," the Arishok said. "I am now free to return to Par Vollen with the thief."

"Wh...what?" Isabela asked. 

"You stranded them here for _four years,"_ Fenris reminded her. "Did you think you could do so without consequence?" 

"But I gave it _back!"_

"She stole the Tome of Koslun," the Arishok growled. "She _must_ return with us."

"Oh no," came a voice from the back. They all turned to see Aveline and her guards storming in. "If anyone is kicking her ass, it's me." 

"This is not a debate," the Arishok growled. "Filth stole from us, she will be taken back to Par Vollen and dealt with." 

_"Enough!"_ Hawke shouted, her voice so unexpected it silenced the whole room. Slowly, she turned back to the Arishok and pulled her hood and mask down. Fenris listened to the shocked gasps and unbelieving whispers as the city around them realized that the Hawk and Anara Amell were one in the same. "Arishok, I understand that her crime was grievous. There has to be a way that she can stay here and face justice from _our_ people instead of yours."

"It was our relic, a piece of our history, Hawke." The Arishok weighed Hawke with his silver gaze for a long moment before speaking. "You are _basalit-an._ If you truly wish to see the criminal go free, you leave me no choice."

"No," Fenris said before he could stop himself. 

"What is it?" Hawke asked, ignoring him. 

"I challenge you, Hawke," the Arishok said. "You and I will battle to the death with her as the prize."

"No!" Isabela interrupted. "If you're going to duel anyone, duel me. I stole the bloody thing. I caused all of this."

"You are not worthy," Fenris said, but it was quiet, and the only reason anyone heard it was because there was utter silence otherwise. 

"The elf is correct," the Arishok said. "Only you, Hawke, are worthy to fight for her crime."

"I... I don't want to fight you, Arishok. I know we are not friends, but I do not wish you harm either."

"These are your options, Hawke. You must choose."

"Just let them take me," Isabela said, showing a level of self-sacrifice Fenris had begun to doubt the rogue possessed. One look at her panicked face, however, and it was clear that Hawke dying for her was a weight she was not prepared to deal with.

A thousand things rushed through Fenris' mind. Every bit of Qunari culture he had learned was rolling back and forth through his mind as he tried to piece together something that would avoid this. He knew better than to think that Hawke would just hand over Isabela. If Isabela had simply been found instead of coming back voluntarily perhaps Hawke could have been persuaded, but he knew better than to think she would punish Isabela for doing the right thing. 

"Very well," Hawke was saying before Fenris could even catch up. "If that is the only way, so be it."

_"Meravas!_ So shall it be. Prepare yourself." 

The Arishok turned to stalk back up the stairs and Hawke's companions immediately surrounded her. 

"I don't think this is such a good idea," Varric said. 

"You don't have to do this for me," Isabela said. 

"Hawke, he'll kill you," Aveline protested. "This is a mistake."

"Hawke, please," Merrill begged. "We can figure something else out."

"I have enough men here," Aveline added. "If we attack them all we can-"

"No," Hawke finally said, shaking her head and turning to look at them all. "This is the best way. Two lives compared to who-knows-how-many if we attack them all. There are too many civilians, too many innocents. We can't risk an assault."

"What about you?"

"What _about_ me?" Hawke scoffed. "I don't have anything particularly promising to live for so it's hard to ignore a good cause to die for."

Fenris saw, but didn't acknowledge, the glare Varric shot him. 

"What about your mother?" Varric asked.

"She'll be fine. I know you'll take care of her." Hawke brushed Varric's hair over his head and bent down to kiss his forehead. Hawke hugged Isabela and Merrill, who both begged her not to duel the Arishok. Then Aveline hugged her, softly thanking her with a voice that Fenris thought he could hear shaking. 

When Hawke finally pulled away from Aveline and looked at him he was completely at a loss. He ached. Every part of him. He felt like he finally knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a fist tearing out his heart. His hands were shaking just enough that he knew they were doing it, and he squeezed his hands into fists to try and make them stop. He wanted to tell her not to do it. He wanted to tell her there was plenty to live for. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't fair for her to take on the burden alone. 

But he knew better, and in watching her beautiful sunset eyes, scan his face for something to say, he knew he was getting exactly what he deserved. 

"You are miles faster than him," he said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It is your greatest advantage. Do not let him get too close if you can help it. You can do this. I know you can."

She smiled sadly and hesitantly reached out to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "I'm glad you came back."

"Kirkwall is home," Fenris said, shaking his head. "I was always going to come back."

He didn't think she was going to, but eventually she stepped into his arms the way she had everyone else and he pulled her into his chest. His lyrium lit up all the way down to his toes as he held her close. There were so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that he had missed her. He wanted to tell her that he'd made a mistake. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, even if he didn't fully understand it yet. He had so much to say. 

_I am telling you,_ Derrick had said. _She is not going to be interested in your apologies._

When she stepped away he snatched her wrist to force her to turn back around. 

"I was wrong," he said, loud enough that he didn't care who heard him. "What I needed was always here."

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in that way they did when something managed to take her by surprise, and while he knew it wasn't enough to get her to change course, he at least wanted her to know he regretted his choice to leave. 

She turned his hand in his and squeezed it, and like a ghost consigning itself to its fate, she slipped out of his grip.

"You want to dance, Arishok?" she asked as she pulled on her hood and mask again. "Then let's dance."


	37. The Duel

“He’s too strong,” Varric growled, wincing as Hawke put up her blades to block another powerful swing from the Arishok and was launched across the room. “What was she thinking?”

“She’s trying to minimize bloodshed,” Aveline said, repeating Hawke’s very words, putting forth effort to keep her voice calm. 

Fenris was clutching his hands into fists so hard he could feel his jagged nails biting into the skin of his palms. He was clenching his jaw to the point that his teeth felt like they were grinding into powder. His whole body was tense to the point of pain, and even that did nothing to minimize the agonizing ache in his chest. 

Anara was fast. She’d always been so damned fast. What good was that here, though? They were in a wide open space, with only two giant pillars as obstructions. There was nowhere to hide, no ledges to leap onto, nothing to distract her opponent. The light was much too good for the Arishok to lose sight of her, meaning she couldn’t even spare time to try and climb up the walls or try to get out of reach. Her stealth was all but useless, her agility was barely an advantage, and her quick feet did little but help her dodge most of the Arishok’s attacks. She was concentrating so much effort on avoiding the terrible blows that she rarely got an opening to go on the offensive. Whenever she took the chance, lashing out with a lightning-quick dagger across the Qunari’s stony skin, not only did she do minimal damage but she would only barely manage to get her defense up to take the force of the blow coming down on her. 

Even if the Arishok’s blades didn’t manage to hit her directly, just blocking the strikes took great effort. He was slow but his skin was thick, his stamina was great, and his swings were more powerful than anything Hawke had probably ever dealt with alone. Fenris _ached_ to be at her back. 

With every mighty swing of the Arishok’s sword, Fenris held his breath. With every dodge or misstep from Hawke, his heart felt like it stopped in his chest, only to start up again when she was safely out of reach. She used the pillars brilliantly, ducking around them and using them as shields, too fast for the Arishok to move around it to reach her, and yet not fast enough that she could get a hit in without opening herself up to another crippling blow. 

More than once the Arishok seemed to knock her back so hard that she had trouble catching her breath. She scrambled on the floor for her daggers when she would lose them, then would roll just out of reach of the sword and back to the sanctuary behind the pillars. 

It wasn’t enough. They all knew it. She could dodge the Qunari until sunrise, but it was obvious that she would tire long before him. All he had to do was wait her out until her fatigue slowed her down. All it would take was one direct hit from the Arishok’s great weapons and it would all be over.

Fenris’ stomach went cold at the thought. He did not come back just to lose her again. He did not spend the last eight months torturing himself only for her to die in front of his eyes. He couldn’t let it happen. He would rather kiss the boots of Danarius himself than watch the golden light leave Anara’s eyes. He didn’t think there was anything he would not do to save her, and yet, there he stood. Powerless.

He knew that if he ran to her defense, the entire Qunari army would descend on the hall. Even if he managed to save her, she would never forgive him for the lives that were lost in the process. He told himself it would be a worthy sacrifice if it meant she lived, but in the end, even with her life on the line he could not bring himself to disrespect her. 

Again, Hawke was launched across the hall, grunting in pain as she smacked into a pillar and slid to the floor. The Arishok charged her and she just managed to jump out of the way, stunning the monstrous warrior briefly when he hit the pillar. She retrieved the blade she lost and sank back into her tell-tale crouch, and Fenris started breathing again. 

He tried to think of a way to give her an advantage without anyone knowing that he had helped her. If she could manage to get behind the Arishok for a little longer, she might be able to land a few more vital hits before he managed to wear her down, but how? The room was too open, the visibility was too good. She needed an opening. She needed the upper hand…

She needed darkness. 

“Merrill,” Fenris whispered harshly, but loud enough that it made the girl jump. “The lanterns.”

“What?” she asked, wide-eyed. She was wringing her hands together anxiously, looking back and forth between him and the fight. 

“The lanterns,” he repeated. “Can you extinguish the light without anyone seeing you do it?”

The girl looked at him for a moment before she seemed to comprehend what he was saying. She nodded once. “I can try,” she said softly. 

“Do not let them see you,” he advised. “Else it is all over.” 

Merrill looked up at the walls, noting all the different fires burning in sconces or hanging from the ceiling. Aveline, who had heard their quiet conversation, moved across Fenris to stand on the other side of him, the two of them together effectively blocking any view of Merrill from the Qunari. 

The sound of Hawke grunting as she was kicked in the chest and sent sprawling across the floor made both he and Aveline flinch. 

“Quickly,” he whispered. 

He heard the mage murmur something in Dalish and felt a cold chill go passed him. When he turned to look, half of the room had gone dark. He saw Hawke’s head snap up from where she lay on her stomach. She noted the change in light immediately and rolled onto her back, quickly putting her feet on the wall and pushing with all her strength. Just as the Arishok’s axe came down on her, Hawke slid across the floor and into the shadows.

She vanished, and that small feat alone rekindled Fenris’ dwindling hope.

 _“Come out and fight!”_ the Arishok bellowed. 

Hawke came from the opposite direction of where the Qunari had been looking and sliced a gash through his side, but when he turned to strike her, she had already jumped back into the darkness. With the Arishok unable to track her easily, she was able to climb up the walls and extinguish the rest of the light burning around the main floor. All that remained was the light from the sconces on the next level where the Qunari and civilians watched from above. The Arishok was still plainly visible as he stormed back and forth from pillar to pillar, shouting uselessly. Anara was another matter entirely…

She was a shadow. 

While she was stealthy as ever, Fenris could tell she had tired considerably. Her speed, usually as quick as flashes of lightning, was subdued, almost dulled. She was still too fast for the Arishok to get a hit on her, but it was a very near thing. 

“’Atta girl,” Varric praised quietly.

For the first time since the fight began, Fenris felt the coiling tension in his stomach starting to relax. She had the advantage she needed. She could do this. He knew she could. The mood of the crowd was changing like the evening tide. Hope spread as if it were contagious. Whenever Hawke reappeared long enough to slice a gash through the Arishok’s skin, only to jump out of reach just in time; the townsfolk would cheer or breathe a collective sigh of relief. The energy in the room buzzed across Fenris’ skin, and before he knew it he was gripping the banister, and shouting his support along with everyone else. 

In the end, though… her fatigue won out. 

He saw her leap from the top of the pillar a second later than she should have, because the Arishok was already turning around, dropping his axe. Fenris swallowed the gut wrenching _‘no’_ that almost shot out of his mouth as he watched the only person he truly cared about falling straight into the hands of the most massive enemy she had ever taken on alone. Time seemed to freeze around him as she descended. He saw the moment of realization in her eyes, he saw her commit her body to the action she had taken even as she acknowledged the fatal error.

Just as the Arishok’s hand grabbed the front of her vest, Anara swung her daggers, spearing him through the throat from both sides. The Qunari roared in pain, a sound that shook the halls. The crowd cheered, but it faded quickly because it only took seconds for everyone to realize the Arishok wasn’t going to drop.

Instead, he reeled back his massive sword with his free hand and sliced Hawke straight through her abdomen, skewering her on it like a live fish on a primitive spear, holding her in the air over his head like a trophy.

Fenris knew with absolute certainty that he was never going to forget the sound that tore out of Anara’s throat. He would never forget the way her blood poured down the blade and covered the hilt and the Arishok’s hand. As she screamed — a shriek so agonizing that it turned his stomach — Fenris felt himself begin to move before his mind had even fully accepted what was happening. 

“No,” Aveline said, putting an arm in front of his chest. 

“She’ll die!” he roared, pushing her away without taking his eyes off of Hawke. “Aveline!”

Before Aveline could say anything else, Hawke had already sunk down to the hilt of the Arishok’s blade, and she jerked her daggers back at an almost unnatural angle before plunging them both into the Arishok’s eyes. He dropped the blade — even as she was still suspended upon it — staggering backward until he tripped over the stairs and fell back. Her daggers, still embedded in his skull, gleamed in the dim light.

Everyone seemed frozen where they stood. The entire hall held a collective breath as the Arishok finally went still, exhaling one final, strangled wheeze. Another blood curdling scream tore out of Hawke as she sat on her knees, pulling the huge blade out of herself until it clattered onto the stone floor of the Keep. She fell forward onto her hands, panting and coughing blood onto the floor. 

Even in the darkness, even with her life held together by threads, when she looked up her golden eyes shone with all the same fire that had always been there. 

**“Get. Out.”**

She obviously couldn’t get to her feet, but that didn’t affect her title as victor. The Qunari all started to silently filter out of the great hall, and the moment Hawke saw they were going to uphold the Arishok’s deal, the last of her strength gave out and she collapsed. 

The sight of her crumpling to the floor was what snapped Fenris out of his trance. He pushed Aveline aside and jumped over the railing, hitting the ground with a loud _‘thud’_ before sprinting across the floor. 

“No, _Anara,”_ he called to her, sounding — even to his own ears — as if he were begging. He rolled her onto her back and pulled her into his chest, pushing her hair out of her face. “Anara, look at me,” he demanded, though it was panic, not strength in his voice. 

“You… you came back,” she said weakly, her lips pulling back in a small smile that revealed her entire mouth was coated in her blood. 

“Of course.” He swallowed a hard breath, his eyebrows knitting together. “I couldn’t stay away.” 

She coughed, making a sickening gurgling sound in the back of her throat. “Fenris… I…”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking her gently. “Spare me your goodbyes. I will not hear them.” 

“Fenris…”

“Help is coming,” he insisted, looking up to see that Aveline had already run out to meet the Templars and the mages. “Stay with me, Anara. Keep your eyes open.”

“Why is it that,” she croaked, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening again, “… every time I almost die, I end up in your arms?”

He dropped his forehead onto hers and just held her there, not caring that his markings came alight in the darkness. “Because the Maker knows I will never allow it.”

His head whipped around when he heard First Enchanter Orsino run through the door, and the mage froze when he saw Fenris, a burning torch of bluish-white holding Hawke in his arms. 

_“What are you waiting for?”_ he roared, his eyes and hair burning with his lyrium even as tears streaked down his cheeks. _“Save her!”_

* * *

When Hawke opened her eyes, the first thing she was aware of was the darkness. She spared a moment to wonder if she was dead. The second thing she was aware of was the stiffness in her limbs. Maker, it felt like she’d been lying still for years. She was weak as well, even trying to move her arm proved incredibly difficult. 

She blinked hard a few times, trying to clear her vision and not knowing why she couldn’t see anything; but as her eyes adjusted, she noticed light in the room. With much more effort than it should have taken, she turned her head to look at the moonlight streaming through her window, but it wasn’t empty. 

Fenris was standing at the window. She would know his silhouette anywhere. He had one hand on the wall, leaning on it as he looked out into the city. His hair was tied back and hung between his shoulder blades now, but it was that same tell-tale white.

Anara swallowed in an attempt to combat the dryness in her throat so she could speak, but she couldn’t think of anything particularly witty to say, so she just said his name. It was weak and quiet, but he immediately whirled around.

There was a moment of absolute stillness as he looked at her. He was silhouetted by the moonlight, so she couldn’t see his expression, but there was an incredible tension in the room.

“You’re awake,” he said, but she couldn’t tell if it sounded more like a question or a sigh of relief. He made his way to her side and sat himself down in a chair that she didn’t remember being positioned that close to the bed. She couldn’t see him that clearly but he put his hand on her arm, holding it through the blanket as if reassuring her that he was there. “How do you feel?” he asked gently. 

“Weak,” she admitted. “The Qunari?”

“Gone.”

“Thank the Maker,” she groaned. “Is everyone alright?”

He scoffed. “Varric has barely come up for air from his ale, Bethany and Orsino have come every day to see you and check your health. Your mother has not left her room except to sit by your side and pray. Anders has helped where he could without being seen. Aveline, Merrill, and Isabella have scarcely left your side except to eat and sleep, and the citizens of Hightown seem more concerned with the fact that the Hawk and Anara Amell are one in the same than the fact that you almost died saving them. Besides that? Everyone is fine.”

“Wha-How long have I been out?”

She heard him swallow. “Twelve days,” he said softly. 

_“What?”_

“You were very badly injured,” he explained. “They said… that you might not wake up.”

“Who?” she croaked.

“No one of importance, obviously,” he said, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Your sister assured me that they were morons and you were only punishing me for leaving.” 

Hawke smiled, or at least it felt like she smiled; she didn’t really know if her muscles were obeying her. “Since when do you trust the word of a mage?”

“Since she was the only one telling me what I wanted to hear,” he admitted, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she could feel his hand trembling. Now that he was close, she could see the unusual gaunt in his face.

“Fenris, you look exhausted,” she accused, trying to shake her head. “Have you been here the whole time? Have you slept?”

“Call it making up for lost time,” he said softly, trailing his hand down her arm to cover her hand through the blanket. “Call it too little too late.”

They sat there in silence for a long time as Anara’s exhausted brain tried to catch up. In the end, the only things she knew were that the Qunari were gone, she was alive, and Fenris hadn’t left her side for the two weeks she’d been unconscious. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, “for not leaving me alone.”

“My virtues may be few, but no one can say that I make the same mistake twice.”


	38. The Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry guys I know it's late life is in upheaval. I am trying to get back on track, and work is finally slowing down so everything should be getting smoother.
> 
> Also I did a couple Lets Play videos on my youtube channel so if you like seeing me in pants-peeing terror, you should check it out! Links in my profile!
> 
> Thanks for your patience, guys. Hopefully I'll see you on time next week!
> 
> Lovelovelove
> 
> Roarkshop

Hawke awoke with the sun the next morning, the unbearable ache in her muscles making itself known as consciousness wormed its way in. She blinked awake and tried to shift but still found herself exhausted and weak. She managed to lift up onto her elbows, though it caused a considerable amount of pain. 

She froze when she realized why her legs felt heavier than the rest of her. 

Hesitantly, she reached out and combed her fingers through Fenris’ snowy hair as he lay hunched over the side of the bed with his head in her lap. His left arm was draped across her legs and his right was holding her forearm through the blanket. She wondered just how exhausted Fenris had to be for Anara to catch him like this.

Anara had only managed to see Fenris sleeping a precious few times. Usually the expression he wore when he slept was the same stony, severe one he used in his waking life. It was different this time, she realized as she pushed stray locked of hair back over his head. He looked troubled, almost sad as he lay there, holding her legs as a child might hold onto a stuffed animal. She sighed and shook her head, continuing to push his hair over his head. He’d come back to her, though his reasons were still unclear. That Warden had implied that Fenris had returned out of concern for her safety, but she did not know just how reliable a source the man was. 

_I was wrong_ , he had said. _What I needed was always here._

Even as the memory made warmth spread throughout her chest, it also brought back that crippling hurt she had felt the night he left. More than eight months he had been gone, and if what the Warden had said was true, the only reason he returned was to lend his aid in quelling the uprising. Had he missed her? Had he wanted to come back? Maker damn him, why had he left in the first place?

Under the light of day, she found forgiveness didn’t come as easily as it did when she was marching toward death. It was a very pleasant thought to entertain as she lay dying in Fenris’ arms, but now that she had lived, she could not entertain fantasies. She had to face facts. 

She had opened herself to him, and he had thrown her away. It was the painful reality, one she had spent more than eight months burying, and it didn’t just go away because he came to her rescue. If the only reason he had come back was to lend his aid against the uprising, then she wished he hadn’t returned at all. 

His ear twitched as she traced her fingers along the edge of it, and whether she liked it or not, she smiled. She still loved him. _Maker,_ how she loved him, but he’d hurt her. She couldn’t just forget it. She doubted she ever would. 

The touch on his ear made him stir and he stretched his arm out before opening his eyes and realizing where he was. Immediately, he looked up and saw her staring at him.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

“Anara,” he replied, sitting up. “Erm… my apologies, I hadn’t… meant to fall asleep.” He ran a hand over his eyes before pushing the rest of his hair back over his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” she admitted.

“That is expected,” he said, sitting up in the chair and trying not to make a show out of how he rolled his shoulders. He had to be feeling cramped from sleeping hunched over the side of the bed. “I should… alert the others that you’ve woken up. Your mother and sister will be relieved.”

“Why did you come back?” The question was out of her mouth before he could even fully rise from the chair, and he froze halfway out of it before slowly lowering himself back down.

“I should think it obvious,” was all he said. 

“The Qunari.” 

He nodded. “It was the Warden that alerted me that the situation had turned volatile, so I agreed to come back to the city with him.” 

She nodded and looked down at her hands in her lap. “That’s what I thought.” She cleared her throat and tried to smile before looking at him again. “I’m sure everyone appreciated your aid.” 

“I did not come back for everyone,” he said plainly, the bluntness familiar and almost comforting.

Anara changed the subject to something a little safer. “How long do you plan on staying this time?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light even as her voice was still weak. 

He narrowed his eyes. “I have no intention of leaving.”

“Ah, but you had no intention of leaving last time either.”

“Nor did I have intentions of staying before you,” he countered.

That made her pause and look back down at her hands. “Fenris… I—”

“I have no illusions about us, Anara,” he interrupted. “I am fully aware that by leaving the city eight months ago, I effectively ended what was… only just beginning between us.” He swallowed and looked away momentarily, shaking his head. “I did not come back with hope of fixing what I have broken.”

She swallowed thickly, feeling oddly torn. On the one hand she was glad that he recognized the damage that had been done. It was rewarding to see him hating himself for it. It was comforting to know that he didn’t expect her to forget what he’d done, because he obviously couldn’t forget it. 

On the other hand, however, she had hoped that he might try. 

“Then what do you want, Fenris?” she asked, nervously running her hands over each other. “If you intend to stay for good, what do you intend to do?”

He turned to look at her again, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a small, sad smile. “What I have always done,” he said softly. “I wish only to fight at your back again. I ask for nothing more.”

Hawke nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. That didn’t seem unreasonable. 

“I’d like that,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “I received more than my fair share of ass-kickings without you.”

He smiled a little wider, some of the sadness evaporating from his expression. “Thank you,” he said softly. Anara almost laughed. As if she was doing _him_ the favor? No, it was all she could do not to jump at the opportunity to have Fenris back. 

Tentatively, she lifted her arms as much as she could without causing herself too much discomfort. Fenris’ ears flattened as he looked from her right arm, to her left arm, then back to her face, as if he didn’t comprehend what she was asking for. He swallowed and moved out of the chair to sit on the very edge of her bed, then he leaned into her arms and very gingerly, as if she were made of glass, wrapped his strong arms around her. She felt the comforting hum of his lyrium as it slowly reacted to her touch. It was so familiar. So right. 

“Welcome home, Fenris,” she said softly, running a weak hand down his back. 

“Thank you, Anara,” he said softly, turning his face into her throat, daring to hold her a little tighter. “Thank you,” he repeated, much softer this time. Like he was praying, or speaking to someone that only he was aware of.

It was the most forgiveness she could offer under the circumstances, but she held him for a long time, running her fingers through his long hair and smiling. Perhaps there was hope. Hell, she had survived a one-on-one duel with the Arishok. She found that she was rather hopeful about her odds this time around. 

 

Fenris let Leandra know that Hawke was awake, who immediately ran into the room to hold her daughter. For the first time in two weeks, Fenris left the Amell estate and walked out into the sunlight. He was still exhausted, but a considerable weight had been lifted from his chest. Anara was awake, she would survive, and she had missed him. She was glad to have him back, even if it was only in the capacity of a companion to fight beside. 

Fenris could live with that, he decided. He hadn’t asked for forgiveness because he knew he didn’t deserve it. Anara was kind, and good, and would possibly forgive him if he asked if for no other reason than she never could really say no to her companions. Fenris wouldn’t take advantage of that. He knew what he’d done, and he didn’t expect another chance.

But he would be allowed to fight with her, to watch over her, to protect her. That was all that mattered. It was more than he deserved and he knew it. 

He went down to the Hanged Man, waking up both Varric and Isabela to tell them that Anara had woken up. He stopped by Merrill’s hovel to do the same, and even the clinic in the undercity to alert Anders who, despite their hatred for one another, expressed his gratitude. Fenris watched him climb through the hatch that apparently opened up into a tunnel that led to Hawke’s basement. Over the course of his absence, life for the mage had gotten dangerous in Darktown so he’d been taking refuge under Hawke’s home, with her permission. Fenris knew exactly why the news bothered him, but he said nothing. It wasn’t his place. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been.

He went to the Circle and gave the message to the Templar Cullen, who promised to pass the message along to Bethany and escort her home so she could see her sister. Then Fenris made one last stop at the Barracks. 

It was in a state of considerable disarray but was coming together since the Qunari attack. Aveline was in the center of the confusion, issuing orders with the authority of a monarch. She smiled when she saw Fenris, and he returned the small gesture. 

“She’s awake then?” she asked.

“How did you guess?”

Aveline smiled knowingly. “Because you’re here, Fenris. You would not have left her side for any other reason.”

He nodded to acknowledge the truth in her words, but said nothing. Aveline motioned her head for him to follow, then turned toward her office. She shut the door once he was inside. 

“Thank you for coming to alert me,” she said, moving behind her desk. “We’ve all been worrying.”

“You are welcome,” he said with a soft nod. 

“You look exhausted,” she offered. “Hardly surprising. You’ve been awake for two weeks straight.”

He nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I will sleep plenty now that I know Anara will be well.”

Aveline’s features softened and she shook her head. “I told her,” he said. “I knew you still cared for her.”

He felt his jaw clench and he rolled out a shoulder. “I never stopped,” he admitted softly.

“Then why did you leave?”

“It is unimportant,” he snapped. 

“Not to Hawke.”

He made a frustrated sound and looked away. “I count you among my few friends, Aveline, but if I did not tell Anara my reasons, you cannot expect me to tell you.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” she said with a sigh, sitting down. “Though I doubt you’ll convince her to give you another chance without explaining it to her.”

“I do not expect another chance.”

“What? You’re not even going to try?”

“Whatever Anara and I had ended the night I ran from the city like a coward,” he snapped. “No one who heard her voice on the night I left could possibly expect her to give me another chance, and she would be right not to. I will not ask that of her. I do not deserve it.”

“Fenris…”

“Enough, Aveline,” he growled, rubbing his exhausted eyes. “I shouldn’t be discussing this with you, it’s none of your concern.”

“You are both my friends. Of course it is my concern.”

“How can you be so quick to forgive me?”

“I can see very well that you are punishing yourself far more than I can ever hope to,” she said with a shrug.

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just sighed in resignation.

“She found you, you know,” she added after a few beats of silence.

“Yes, I figured that out.”

“She thought you were dead,” she added. “Or that Danarius had found you. Suffice it to say she was more than a little dejected when she found out you were just living a new life in Val Chevin.”

Fenris swallowed and looked out the window, clenching his hands into fists. He had assumed Hawke had chased him because she wanted answers from him, not that she had worried for his safety. The knowledge made him feel both very warm and extremely cold.

“I never intended to feel this way for someone,” he admitted, because who else could he possibly talk to about it? “I didn’t even know I _could.”_

“You love her,” she said, as if she were talking about the weather. “That is the only explanation for you to be such an idiot.”

Despite himself, he smiled a little. “It is not the first time I’ve heard that,” he admitted. “It doesn’t matter any longer. All that matters is that she is safe, and that she has allowed me to fight at her side again.”

Aveline was silent, which made Fenris draw his attention from the window to look at her. She had her lips pursed like she was going over a strategy for her men. 

“Well, Qunari invasion aside, you picked a very good time to return.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes,” she said, going into the drawer of her desk and pulling out a small card and holding it out to him. “Now you can attend my wedding.”

He froze for a second before taking the wedding invitation and staring down at it. It was addressed to him as if she knew he would be back in time for it. 

“Captain Aveline Vallen and Lieutenant Donnic Hendyr,” he read with a smile before looking up at her again. “Congratulations, Aveline.”

“Thank you,” she said with a proud little smile. “You see, Fenris? There is hope for you yet. I know you haven’t forgotten the disaster that was my courtship of my future husband.”

Fenris laughed and nodded. “I am not like to forget,” he admitted, tucking the invitation into his pocket. “I would be honored to attend.”

“Not like that, you won’t,” she said playfully. “You are in dire need of a wardrobe and a haircut.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Maker, Fenris, you look like a pirate.” 

He glanced at himself in the reflection of a shield on the wall and sighed. “I’m afraid I’m not the best judge of that sort of thing.”

“Don’t worry Fenris. You have a month yet. We’ll polish you up until you shine.”

Fenris felt something like dread coil in his stomach. “We?”

 

 

 _“People of Kirkwall,”_ Orsino bellowed, _“I know you fear us…”_

Fenris leaned his hands on the railing of his balcony as he watched the First Enchanter address the angry mob. It had been almost a month since the Qunari had been driven from the city, but the peace that it caused had been brief. Tensions, it seemed, would always be high in Kirkwall. 

Memories he had long forgotten filtered through his memory; memories of Hawke, walking at his side through the darkened city and looking up to the stars for answers. 

_What is the point to saving the city when it is so set on self-destruction?_

_Why is it our job to save the city from itself?_

Fenris leaned his elbows on the railing and shook his head as he watched the crowd grow to a frothing boil. He had never had a problem with Orsino; in point of fact, Fenris felt indebted to him for how the enchanter had saved Hawke after her crippling battle, but he didn’t see how any good would come of a riot in the streets. 

_“Enough_!” Meredith’s voice cracked through the noise. “Return to your homes, all of you. This farce is over!”

“What’s the matter, Knight-Commander?” Orsino asked with a defiant cross of his arms. “Are you afraid of a little righteous indignation?”

“There’s no righteousness in this, mage. You are inciting a riot! I should have you hung from the gallows!”

“Oh dear, what’s this?” Came a too-familiar voice in the crowd. “The way you two carry on, people are going to talk.”

Fenris stood up straighter when he saw Hawke limping through the crowd. He should have known she wouldn’t be able to stay in bed until she was fully healed. 

“Ah, perhaps there are some who might disagree with you,” Orsino said.

“Do not hide behind the Champion, Orsino. She has no role in this.”

“A bit early for a lovers’ quarrel, don’t you think?” Hawke asked.

The murmurs spread through the crowd like high tide over the rocks. The news that Anara Amell, noble daughter of Leandra, had been the cutthroat known as the Hawk all this time had been a considerable cause for gossip in the city. Where once the people speculated that the rogue was a demon or an agent of the fade, they know called her a common cutpurse, a thief, and a liar. 

“To think she was under our noses this whole time,” someone beneath his balcony was saying. 

“I even let her mother trick me into taking her out once,” the man said. “I had always known there was something ghastly about her.”

“She _did_ save the city,” someone else offered. “She’s the Champion of Kirkwall, after all.”

“Bah,” the man scoffed. “She cared only to save her own skin, and look what it’s done for her; granted her considerable power and influence over the city.”

“To think that the treacherous Hawk is now the Champion of our fair city… it chills the bones.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and pushed back from the balcony, unable to listen to the rabble anymore. He jogged down the stairs and out his front door, glaring at the group of gossipers as he made his way toward the center of the throng. 

“Cold corpses speak louder than abstract freedoms,” Meredith was bellowing. “As long as that’s true, Kirkwall needs its Templars more than it needs a new ruler.”

“And when will that end?” Orsino demanded. “When will you stop seeing evil in every corner?”

“When it is no longer there!”

“This isn’t helping,” Hawke interrupted, leaning heavily on her right leg. “One of you seeks to induce a riot, the other to upturn everything you claim to fight for. Neither gets us peace. Neither stops the two of you from your tirade outside my window.”

“Meredith cannot be allowed free reign,” Orsino growled. “She paints my people with the same brush as her blood mages.”

“My duty is to protect this city, Mage, and I will do so at any cost!”

“This is very dangerous ground,” Hawke warned. “Only bloodshed lies at the end of the paths you’re on, and the people you claim to protect will be the ones to suffer.”

A strange, hushed silence fell over the mob and everyone turned to see the Grand Cleric walking toward them, the crowd parting to let her through. 

“My, my,” she said. “Such a commotion.”

With gentle words of reason, the Grand Cleric sent both extremists back to the Gallows and dispersed the angry crowd. 

“Thank you for stepping in, Champion,” she said softly. “If you had not…”

“I doubt I did much,” Hawke groaned as she tried to get her footing. Fenris took her arm to steady her and he realized she had no idea he’d been behind her for so long. She looked up at him and swallowed, and Fenris raised his eyebrows at her in silent challenge. Hawke cleared her throat and turned back to the Grand Cleric. “Something has to be done about those two. They will tear the city apart if they’re allowed to continue like this.”

“Sadly true,” she said. “They will see reason if the Maker wills it.”

Once the Cleric was out of earshot, heading toward the Gallows, no doubt, Fenris took on more of Hawke’s weight. 

“You should not be up yet,” he growled, his hand tightening on her arm. “You are in no condition to be giving lectures.”

“Thank you, _mother_ ,” Hawked drawled, “but perhaps your time in Val Chevin simply rotted your brain if you think I can manage to lounge around in bed for weeks.”

“You are not lounging,” Fenris said with a sigh. “You are healing.”

“Semantics,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

“Ah, Miss Amell,” came a familiar Orlesian accent. “Or should I say, Miss Hawke, hmm?”

“Simone,” Hawke said, trying to straighten her posture, perhaps out of instinct. “It’s been a long time.”

“Why, yes it has,” she cooed. “I have been home in Orlais for quite some time, but the tale of your heroic duel reached even my ears.”

Hawke groaned and leaned into Fenris for support, which he found satisfying. “I did what anyone in my position would have done.”

“I think you are well aware that is not true,” she said, tapping Hawke on the arm gently with her fan. “You are obviously the only one who could have saved the city.”

“Or the only one willing,” Fenris mumbled.

“Mmm, your mysterious gentleman is probably right.”

Hawke looked up at Fenris with an eyebrow arched before turning back to Simone. “Mysterious gentleman?”

“He is your mysterious hooded man from the ball, no?” she asked.

“Oh, right. Yes.” Hawke cleared her throat. “This is Fenris. He’s, uh… he’s my friend. Fenris, this is Simone DeLaur.”

Simone unfurled her fan and covered the lower half of her face as she nodded to him. “A pleasure, Fenris.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side as he observed the other woman. There was just… something about the way she said his name that made him uncomfortable. 

_“Anyway_ ,” Hawke snapped, jerking Fenris out of his concentration. “We were just leaving. A pleasure to see you again, Simone.”

“But of course,” the woman sang, leaning forward to kiss Hawke’s cheek. “I do hope you and your mother will stop by for tea soon. You are always welcome, when you are not dashing bravely into the night, I mean.”

“Thank you,” Hawke said, genuinely sounding grateful, Fenris thought. She tugged his arm and he followed, holding her weight as he helped her back to her home. “For calling you _my_ mysterious gentleman, she certainly was quick to flirt with you.”

“What?” Fenris asked, arching an eyebrow. “Is that what she was doing?”

“As if you didn’t notice?” she grumbled. “You were rather blatantly gawking at her.”

“I-what? No. I was trying to place her voice,” he said softly. “She seems familiar to me for some reason.”

“You undoubtedly saw her at the masquerade ball,” Hawke helped. “You remember; the night the dwarves attacked Bethany.”

“I am unlikely to forget,” he said as he opened her front door for her. That was the night that sent Fenris’ self-control spiraling into chaos, he was unsure if he would _ever_ forget it. “The way she spoke to me made me uncomfortable.”

“She has that effect on a great many men,” Hawke said flatly. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Fenris defended.

Hawke waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s obviously none of my business.”

“Do not be a fool,” he said, sweeping her up into his arms once they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Your jealousy is endearing, but unnecessary.”

_“Jealousy?”_

Fenris smiled as he carried her up the stairs. “Yes, it is quite adorable.”

“I hate you.”


	39. The Wedding

Hawke’s companions did what they could to make the healing process less unbearable for her. Isabela and Merrill were always at the house, entertaining her to the best of their ability. Varric stopped by occasionally, but more often wrote letters, keeping her abreast of the situation that had arisen due to her rather untimely revealing of her secret identity. 

She knew very well that Varric would have rather some very big, dramatic gesture; a moment where the entire city could look upon her with awe and astonishment. More than once Varric mentioned that Hawke ‘threw away’ a golden opportunity by haphazardly revealing her identity, but what was she supposed to do? The Arishok would deal only with her, and she had been trying to be as respectful as possible. She knew Varric was only ribbing her anyway. The dwarf wasn’t very good at being sentimental. 

Aveline escorted Bethany home once a week, accompanied by Cullen for good measure. It made Hawke feel immeasurably better to see Bethany, even if the Templar loomed at the other end of the room like a dark and formidable stick in the mud. 

Fenris stopped by rarely, though she didn’t know why that surprised her. There was an impregnable awkwardness between them that neither of them seemed equipped to deal with. Hawke had questions that she knew Fenris didn’t want to answer, and Fenris had apologies he knew Hawke didn’t want to hear. Every once in a while they would fall back into their banter, making one another laugh or smile, but it never lasted long. 

Every day Hawke got a little stronger, though. She would go down the stairs to the large, empty room that sat between the library and the kitchens to stretch her exhausted muscles. Once she was strong enough, she started to wield her daggers again. Once that no longer caused her any great discomfort, Hawke decided there was no reason she shouldn’t start swimming again. 

Even after Fenris left, Hawke still went down to the coast twice a week to swim. At first she felt silly without Fenris, but somehow it made her feel close to him still. She couldn’t help but think of him as she waded out into the crashing waves, remembering the gentle way he would hold her up or the simple teasing they would fall into. She hadn’t been back to the ocean since the uprising, thanks to her injuries, but her wounds had healed over and she was feeling much of her own strength again, so she grabbed a towel and headed down toward the coast.

She realized while Fenris was gone that she genuinely enjoyed the swimming, with or without him. It was excellent exercise and a refreshing way to start a day, and there was no reason to stop doing it now that Fenris was back. It was no longer something for ‘them’; it was hers. 

At least that’s what she told herself as she stood on the sand, stunned into silence as Fenris emerged from the water shirtless, pushing his long hair back over his head. He was wiping the water out of his eyes when he noticed her standing there, and his expression dropped, looking oddly self-conscious in that moment. 

“Anara,” he said, making his way out of the surf. “What, erm… Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. 

“I… suppose you’re feeling better?” 

“Yes. I figured if I’m ever going to get my strength back, I need to get back into my old routines.”

Fenris tilted his head to the side and his ears twitched, making a droplet of water fall onto his bare shoulders. “It has been a long time since I was giving you swimming lessons; too long to still be considered a routine.” 

She cleared her throat and knew her cheeks were growing pink with embarrassment, but she looked resolutely out at the horizon. “Yes, well, just because you were gone didn’t mean that I stopped coming. It wasn’t until the chaos with the Arishok that I had to stop.”

She could see out of the corner of her eye that he smiled and turned to follow her line of sight, looking out at the rising sun beside her. As was his way, however, he said nothing. Good, she thought. The fact that he was still insufferably silent infuriating while simultaneously comforting somehow.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, glancing back at where she’d left her towel and coat on the rocks, seriously considering going back home. “I find it hard to believe you pick today as your day to resume swimming.”

“I never stopped,” he admitted softly. “I kept to our routine while I was in Val Chevin, and saw no reason not to continue now that… now that I am home.” 

She turned to look at him, he returned the gesture.

Anara didn’t know if it was wishful thinking, but she felt like so much was said in the short sentences, in the tiny silences between the words, in their lingering eye contact. They stood in the morning sunlight, the waves lapping at their feet as they looked at each other. Even after all the time, the uncertainty, the incredible loneliness, these mornings — this shore — it was still theirs because neither of them had let it go. It belonged to them, and as they read the understanding from each other’s eyes, Hawke knew that she and Fenris both understood what had really been said.

He smiled, she returned the gesture. 

They had missed each other. She knew it as plainly as if they had said the actual words. Anara was surprised by the giddy sensation that welled up in her chest at the realization. She looked at the ground and laughed. Not because anything was funny, simply because she couldn’t help it. She felt all at once foolish and relieved for how the simple fact affected her.

Wordlessly, she walked further into the surf, and her smile only grew when she heard Fenris follow after her. They swam side by side as if there wasn’t almost a year of absence between them. They swam out to the same point they always swam to, and then they swam farther.

She was so exhilarated by the small step, the small understanding, that she over estimated her strength. They weren’t even halfway back to the shore when she started to tire, the pull of the waves making it difficult for her to make headway. Once she realized how her muscles had begun to ache, how incredibly fatigued she was becoming, she knew she was going to have to rest before getting back to shore, but she also knew that she was in the middle of the ocean and should have thought of that before she’d gone so far out. 

“Ah, Fenris,” she called, starting to tread water, but even that felt exhausting. 

He stopped where he was, now further ahead of her as he turned back to locate her. Without another word he reached for her, and she took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled toward him. As he’d always done, he wrapped an arm around her back and held her against his chest, and she clung to his shoulders out of instinct, panting into the skin of his shoulder. 

“I… seem to have…” she swallowed. “I guess I’ve over-estimated my recuperation.”

“Some things never change,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice as he held her up. It hurt, she realized, to be in his arms again like this. It used to be such a platonic gesture, a measure of support and nothing more. Now she remembered the taste of his skin, the sound of his hard, heavy breathing, and it was an altogether different experience than it had been before he left. 

“I’m alright,” she said, pushing up on his shoulders in an attempt to put some distance between them. “I just… should get back home and rest.” 

He looked up at her with an expression that, unsurprisingly, she couldn’t exactly read. He searched her eyes for an answer she didn’t think she had, so she just offered him a small smile in an attempt to break the awkwardness. 

“As you wish,” he said through his heavy breathing. “Hold onto me. I will take you back to shore.”

* * *

Fenris slept restlessly that night. The image of Anara pushing away from him in the water haunted him. He knew very well that their friendship would not — could not — be what it had been before they had become lovers. The unbearable silences, the awkward conversation, it was all a painful reminder of what he’d lost. 

What he’d given up.

Time after time he wondered if he should regret it all. Not just leaving, but all of it. Should he regret going into the fade and seeing the demon taunt Hawke, thereby giving him the courage to confront her? Should he regret kissing her on her balcony? Should he regret taking that last kiss, the kiss that had pulled him down into the oblivion that had been her arms? 

Whether or not he _should_ regret it seemed irrelevant. He didn’t. Not for a second. 

The day of Aveline’s wedding came and Fenris found himself dreading it. The last time he had worn formal clothing was over seven years ago now, at some sort of social function Danarius had trussed him up for. He remembered how the other magisters had complimented Danarius on his witty juxtaposition of a slave wearing a formal tuxedo while his master led him by the silver chain connected to the collar around his throat. 

Thankfully, Aveline’s wedding was not nearly so formal. She had been pleased enough to see him in a simple black waistcoat and shirt, accented with a deep violet. She didn’t argue with him when he refused to wear a tie even without hearing his reasons for not wanting something around his throat. She wanted him to be comfortable, she told him. He’d always liked Aveline. 

It was early in the evening when Donnic and Aveline walked down the aisle of the Chantry together, the entire audience standing to watch them. Fenris thought he did an admirable job keeping his eyes on the proceedings and not on Hawke standing beside Aveline. She was looking heartbreakingly beautiful in a simple, violet sun dress that came down to her knees with a bouquet of flowers held in front of her. Half of her hair was tied back and pinned with a flower that matched her dress. Fenris glanced down at the waist coat he was wearing and realized belatedly that it was accented with the same violet hues as Hawke’s dress. He groaned silently as he realized why Aveline had picked out that particular article for him. 

Next to Donnic stood Brenner, a woman that Fenris recognized from the guard, and she was wearing the Formal Guard attire that both bride and groom were wearing, though Aveline was wearing that of the Captain, adorned with her various awards. 

When the simple ceremony was complete everyone stood and applauded the newlyweds as they made their way back down the aisle, smiling at each other with the unabashed adoration that they had no reason to hide. 

The reception was held in the Chantry courtyard, where a band was playing and food was being served. Isabela and Varric made themselves immediately at home while Fenris and Merrill sat at a table off to the side, both of them more than a little out of their element. Anders, he noticed, hadn’t gone to the ceremony at all, and had only appeared at the reception. He wondered what the mage had been doing to make him miss the ceremony. Not that his absence had been noticed by anyone, but Fenris had gathered that he was living in Hawke’s basement now; surely there had been no reason for his tardiness.

Fenris had forgotten about the abomination taking refuge under Hawke’s mansion. The thought still unsettled him.

It was a warm spring evening in Kirkwall, and as eating turned into drinking, and drinking turned into dancing, Fenris wondered if it was time to make himself scarce. He only lived around the corner, after all, and there didn’t seem to be any reason for him to stay much longer.

No one asked Hawke to dance, he noticed, which seemed decidedly odd to him. Varric sat next to her the majority of the evening and Isabela and Aveline kept going over to spend time with her, but that was it. He wondered if it was the fact that people knew she was the Hawk. Surely the regulars from the Hanged Man didn’t care, and the guards that were present would hardly shun her. Perhaps they were intimidated then, to dance with a woman who could kill them with their bare hands. 

Weaklings. All of them. 

As if on cue, however, Anders was the first to actually extend a hand. Hawke smiled her sweet smile and allowed him to lead her to the small dance floor and Fenris felt a very unreasonable anger storm through him. He knew it didn’t make sense. He knew it was foolish, but he was jealous. He had been gone eight months; that was plenty of time for Anders to attempt to replace him. Had he succeeded? Did Hawke say Anders’ name the way she’d once said Fenris’? The very idea made something twist in his stomach. 

It was the light, melodic giggle next to him that snapped him out of his own thoughts. 

“What?” he asked, turning to look at Merrill next to him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re in love,” she said, leaning her chin on her hand. 

“I am not,” Fenris defended uselessly. 

“You keep looking at Hawke with sad puppy eyes every time her back is turned.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “There are _no_ puppy eyes.”

“It’s alright, you know.”

“What is?”

“That you love Hawke. Even you can be happy once in a while, it won’t kill you.”

Fenris set his jaw and looked back at Anders leading Hawke around the room in sloppy, lopsided turns. He didn’t know many benefits to the dance training he’d received in Tevinter, but he could certainly pick out an amateur when he saw one. 

“You should talk to her, Fenris.”

He turned back to Merrill. “I do not remember asking your advice, witch.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and just when Fenris thought he’d blundered badly, they settled back down and she just shook her head. “You’re impossible to talk to.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow but said nothing. 

Merrill tilted her head to the side in that deceptively innocent way. “Don’t you want to be happy, Fenris?”

What could he possibly say? It wasn’t about wanting to be happy, it was about _deserving_ to be happy. It was about needing Danarius to be dead and gone before he could concentrate on being someone that could deserve a second chance. It was about so many things, but nothing he was about to confide in the likes of Merrill. 

Luckily Fenris was saved from having to say anything when Isabela pulled Merrill’s chair out and demanded a dance. Merrill blushed and looked back at him as he would help her as Isabela pulled her out onto the floor. Fenris breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to be lectured on happiness from a blood mage who was so far down the path of damnation she practically had one foot in the fade. 

Fenris stood and started to make his way out of the courtyard, figuring there was no reason for him to linger any longer.

He was stopped by the familiar too-heavy weight of Aveline’s hand on his shoulder. “And just where do you think you are going?”

“Home,” he said gently. “Have I not celebrated enough for you liking, Lady Hendyr?”

The title made her smile a silly little smile that made Fenris smile in return. “You’ve hardly celebrated at all. Don’t think I haven’t watched you sitting over there brooding the whole time.”  
He sighed, wondering if there was any point in still telling people he didn’t brood. “How long would you have me stay?”

She tilted her head to the side, then she stood beside him and put an arm around his shoulders and turned him toward where Hawke was again sitting with Varric. 

“One dance with Hawke, and you may go.”

“Aveline…”

“It’s my wedding Fenris, you cannot deny me.”

“It is not enough that you have dressed me to match her?”

She smiled. “I thought it was a nice touch.”

Fenris let out a tormented sigh. “This is a blatant abuse of our friendship.”

“I acknowledge that.”

He groaned and straightened his shoulders, bracing himself as he made his way to Hawke’s table. It wasn’t such a terrible stipulation. Fenris had _wanted_ to dance with Hawke, he just hadn’t wanted her to say no either.

“So I look at him,” Varric was saying, “and I said ‘ _ice hole_ , you moron not— Ah…”

As Varric noticed Fenris, so did everyone else, and Hawke turned around to look at him, the smile dropping from her face a little. 

“Fenris,” she said. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” he said stiffly, motioning his head at Anders. “I was just… thinking the abomination had the right idea earlier.” He swallowed and held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

She looked down at his hand and then back at his face. For a cold, terrifying moment he thought she was going to refuse. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he felt the familiar weight of her hand in his. He smiled, probably the first genuine smile of the evening as he led her out to the dance floor. 

“The last time we danced I forced you,” she reminded him. 

“I remember.”

“Who forced you this time?”

“Aveline.”

“I thought as much,” she sighed, turning to put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Make no mistake, the only reason I didn’t ask you before now is because I thought you would say no.” He turned and pulled her into a waltz. “Had I known you would say yes, I would have asked you without Aveline’s prodding.” 

She smiled and the small action transformed the sharp lines of her face in that way it always did. Where there was usually cold fire there was simply warmth and, he dared to hope, affection. He couldn’t help but look at her when she was smiling. It was his favorite thing. He realized he was staring at her and cleared his throat, motioning his head to Leandra on the other side of the courtyard. “Your mother seems to be in rather good spirits.”

“Incredibly good,” Anara agreed, following his line of sight briefly. 

“She is handling the reveal of your identity well, then?”

“Surprisingly,” she said with a laugh. “I think it has something to do with her secret admirer.”

“Her what?” 

“You heard me right,” Hawke sighed. “Someone has been sending her a vase of lilies the past few weeks. She doesn’t know who they’re from, but it has gotten her to stop trying to meddle with _my_ life so I suppose I should just take the win.”

He laughed softly, but had nothing further to add to the conversation. 

Anara cleared her throat. “You haven’t told me you like my dress.”

“Am I supposed to?”

Hawke laughed that light, melodic sound that made his insides warm. “Typically, yes. It’s customary to tell the maid of honor she looks pretty.”

“I see no reason to tell you what you already know, but if you would like me to, I will.”

She narrowed her eyes and scrunched up her nose. “As a general rule, when a woman goes through the effort to get all dressed up, you’re supposed to at least acknowledge it.”

“Anara,” he said, leveling his eyes at her as they danced. “If you don’t know by now that I think you’re beautiful whether you’re covered in make-up or covered in _blood_ , then I honestly don’t know what to say to you. There has not been a single moment of the past six years where I _didn’t_ think you were beautiful. Tonight is no exception.”

He fought the urge to smile when the words caused her to trip over her own feet. Stumbling was not something Anara Hawke did often. He caught her and pulled her into another turn to help her right her feet. 

“Ah, sorry. I mean… thank you.” She cleared her throat and looked around the courtyard, but failed to hide the color that had risen in her cheeks. “You look very handsome as well, Fenris.”

“Thank you,” he said gently before leading her out in a spin and bringing her back to his chest. 

“Though I must admit, I’m a little upset you cut your hair.”

“Are you?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do,” she said, smiling up at him. “It’s… just as I remember you. I like it very much, but the long hair was growing on me.”

“Aveline said I looked like a pirate.”

Anara laughed and shook her head. “I thought you looked like… one of the rakish heroes from Varric’s sensation novels.” 

“Oh?” Fenris laughed and bent her back in a shallow dip, and he realized belatedly that this was the first time in his life that he could remember actually enjoying a dance. “Perhaps I will grow it out again, in that case.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me.” 

They song only went on for another minute or so before finally coming to a soft finish. He thought about asking for another dance, but refrained with some effort. 

“Well,” she said, letting her hands fall to her sides. “I suppose I can still claim that I’m recovering and bow out early.”

“You wish to leave?”

“I was thinking about it,” she said with a dainty shrug. “It’s always smart to leave before people get too drunk to control their mouths.”

Fenris nodded his agreement and smoothed his vest against his chest. “Erm… May I walk you home?”

She smiled, and a tiny little hope lit in Fenris that perhaps she’d been wanting him to ask. “I’d like that,” she said, taking his arm. 

He was perfectly aware of the way his heart had started beating in his ears and the way his palms suddenly felt clammy and awkward. He spared a glance to Aveline who raised a champagne glass in toast to him as he led Hawke out of the courtyard. He nodded to her and hoped it conveyed his silent thanks. 

They walked in companionable silence like they had always used to, except now they were arm in arm, and she was leaning into him slightly. There was no awkwardness, he realized, just the same comfortable quiet there had always been as the sounds of the party faded into the distance. He stopped at her door and opened it for her, waiting for her to cross the threshold. 

“Thank you,” she said, turning around in the doorway to look at him. “For the dance, and for walking me home.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said gently. He thought she was going to close the door then, but she didn’t; she simply leaned on it and looked at him. 

“I never blamed you, you know.”

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“For leaving.”

Fenris swallowed audibly and felt the muscles of his jaw and shoulders tighten. “Anara…”

“I admit that I blamed myself for a while,” she admitted, looking down at her feet. “I thought I had rushed you, or perhaps unknowingly manipulated you, or said the wrong thing. After that I tried to blame _you_. I tried to be angry at you for using me, but…” 

“Anara, please…”

“You didn’t, though, did you,” she said, looking up at him again. “I know you, Fenris. I’ve known you for almost seven years now. You would never use someone that way. I knew that then and I know it now.”

He exhaled a hard breath and looked down at his feet. 

“No, Anara,” he whispered. “I did not use you.”

She tipped his chin up with a gentle touch and held his gaze with her own. “You ran,” she said softly, moving her hand to press against his sternum. “I am very familiar with running, Fenris, and I do not blame you.” 

His eyebrows snapped together as he looked at her, searching her face for the placating kindness she used on Anders. He wanted so badly to believe it, to believe that she didn’t hold any ill will toward him, that she didn’t secretly hate him. He swallowed another hard breath and looked down at her hand against his chest, feeling his muscles straining with his tension.

“I missed you,” he said, so softly he’d barely said it at all. He took her hand off his chest so he could hold it before he looked at her again. “I never stopped.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I missed you too, Fenris. I am very glad you’ve come home.”

He swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to bolster his courage. “I would… like it if you resumed reading with me during the week.”

“Would you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. 

“Very much, yes…. If… it’s not too much trouble.”

She laughed and nodded. “I think I’d like that as well.”

He found himself laughing more out of relief than anything. He covered her hand with both of his, running his fingertips along the back of her hand. He watched his lyrium light up against her touch, felt the way it hummed against her skin. It was nothing like when other magic-touched people made his lyrium light up, it hadn’t been that way for a long time. This was comforting. It was right. 

He lifted her hand in both of his, putting an earnest kiss against her fingers, closing his eyes against the ache the contact caused. The lyrium on his chin hummed to life and he held he hand there for his own, tiny eternity. The scent of her skin filled his head with what promised to be his favorite memories in his lifetime. When he finally opened his eyes Anara was looking at him almost sadly, so he pulled her hand away and swallowed down his nerves. 

Slowly, he started letting her hand slip out of his, lingering at the last second where their fingertips were just barely touching.

“Goodnight, Anara,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Fenris.”


	40. The Lilies

It was a few weeks before things between Fenris and Hawke returned to some semblance of what they were before he left. They swam together regularly, and once or twice Hawke made her way to the mansion so they could read together. The anniversary of Carver’s death came around and Fenris was surprised to see Hawke at his door. Instead of reading, however; he just played the violin for her until she fell asleep. 

Even as their playful teasing and easy banter came back, there was still a palpable, inextricable tension between them. He didn’t quite understand it, but whenever they would fall into a silence, the energy around them seemed to vibrate. They would look at each other and Fenris could tell it took her just as much effort to look away as it took him. He wondered if it would ever be the same between them before he managed to ruin everything. 

As the sun was setting in the middle of the week, he stopped by Hawke’s estate in hopes of walking with her down to the Hanged Man for Wicked Grace that evening. He stopped in the doorway of the parlor when he saw her sprawled on her stomach in front of the fire next to Orana. The elf was concentrating on the quill pen she was using to painstakingly write something. 

The image wrenched something in his chest. It brought memories that he had long buried to the forefront of his mind. He remembered his frustrated outbursts, he remembered pinning Hawke to the wall when she challenged his narrow outlook, remembered the way she would run her hand over his hair when he would stumble over a word or phrase.

“Very good,” Hawke was saying. “Your penmanship has gotten so much better since we started.”

“Do you think so?” Orana asked, looking at Hawke with a hopeful smile. That was when she noticed Fenris in the doorway. “Oh, hello, again.”

Fenris nodded and met Hawke’s eyes when she turned to follow Orana’s eye-line. “Oh, Fenris,” she said with a smile, pushing up on her hands. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, leaning his shoulder in the doorway. “I was just heading to the Hanged Man. Thought I would see if you were inclined to join me.”

“Indeed I am,” she said with a grin. “Let me go change. We’ll pick this up next week, Orana. Very good work. “

“Thank you, mistress,” the girl said with a smile as Hawke dashed up the stairs. 

Fenris cleared his throat and moved further into the room. “Hawke is… teaching you read and write, then?”

“Yes, sir,” Orana chimed as she gathered her supplies. “Mistress has been very kind to me. She has taught me how to deal with shopkeepers and order supplies for myself. She’s taught me to read and write and gives me a day off every week. I even have my own room and an account where I can save the money she pays me. I never knew that it could be like this. Not for me.” 

“I know that feeling,” he said softly. “Hawke has… taught me many things as well.”

“It’s so thrilling,” she continued. “The books we read are full of so much adventure and danger. Mistress particularly likes the ones with happy endings.” 

Fenris smiled and nodded. “I remember her saying something to that effect.”

Orana looked up in the direction Hawke had left and sighed. “I am just glad she doesn’t cry anymore.”

His expression dropped and he tilted his head to the side a little. “What do you mean?”

“When I first came here, it took me a week or so to get used to my duties. When she asked me if I wanted to learn to read and write I was… so excited to learn, but…”

“But?” Fenris prompted gently. 

“Well, our lessons would always make her cry,” she admitted. “I never knew why, but she would just… say that it was enough for one night and send me away. She didn’t know I could hear her crying in her room. I don’t know why teaching me to read used to make her cry, I always told her she didn’t have to teach me if it made her sad, but she insisted that she was fine.” 

Fenris felt his insides turn to ice as he looked up at the balcony where Hawke’s door sat, swallowing down the impulse to scold himself for something he already regretted. His self-loathing had done nothing for him, he reminded himself. 

He’d known that she cried the night he left, but he didn’t think she had allowed herself to cry for him more than once. She was so strong, so full of life and energy; it was hard to think of himself as something powerful enough to cause her long term sorrow. He had to keep himself from laughing. As if he were a force worthy of Anara’s tears? Hardly. 

The fact that her feelings for him caused her tears on more than one occasion sent a powerful ache through him, but it also warmed something inside of him. Something deep and hidden that had been frozen for a long time. Anara did not show her emotions readily, least of all pain. There was something invigorating about the knowledge that she had cared for him so much to pine after him similarly to how he’d pined for her. 

“I should go start preparing dinner,” Orana said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Thank you, sir, for giving me my mistress.”

He arched a confused eyebrow. “Why are you thanking me?” he asked. “I assure you that Hawke’s kindness toward you has nothing to do with me. It is how she has always been.”

“But mistress always tells me that if it hadn’t been for you, she never would have found me.”

“I suppose that is true,” he allowed, “but she would have helped you regardless how she found you.”

“I know. She is very good to me.” Orana gave him a polite bow. “Thank you all the same, sir.”

Fenris watched the girl scamper off toward the kitchens, writing supplies clutched to her chest as if they were precious. He turned to stare into the small blaze in the fireplace, leaning a hand on the mantle as Orana’s words echoed through his head. 

_I don’t know why teaching me to read used to make her cry._

He figured he knew exactly why they used to make her cry, but the important thing was that they didn’t any longer. 

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already brooding into the fire,” Hawke said as she came down the stairs. 

Fenris glared as he turned around to look at her. “I do not brood.”

“Mmhmm. Some things never change.”  


* * *

“So the seneschal’s tax collectors _won’t_ be coming around again, like you asked. Funny story…”

“I’ll… pass,” Fenris interrupted, leaning against the railing of his balcony. “But, thank you for the help.”

Isabela scoffed and crossed her arms, still dangling a leg over the railing beside him. “Spoil sport,” she grumbled. “Why you want to squat up here in Hightown is beyond me.”

It was as if the Maker himself had set the cue, because Fenris couldn’t help but smile as he watched Hawke step out of her mansion across the Keep Square. “I like the view,” he admitted softly. 

“Well, so do I, but—” Isabela followed his eye-line and smiled wickedly when she saw what he was looking at. “Oh, I see. Yes, I imagine you _would_ like the view.”

Fenris nodded. Hawke was dressed in her usual vest and tight trousers, only now people seemed to get out of her way as she walked toward the chantry. 

“Where is she going at this hour?”

“I imagine she’s coming here,” Fenris said softly. “She has that look about her.”

“What look?”

“The look that says something is afoot. I imagine that means tonight will not be a dull one.”

“Well, if she’s coming here I need to get out of here faster rather than slower,” Isabela said with a sigh. “Mind if I leave through your front door?”

“No,” he said simply, “but why the rush?”

“If Hawke sees me here she’ll… get the wrong idea.”

“And what idea is that?”

“That you and I are…” she moved her hands aimlessly, “groping the old grinder, as it were.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow and hoped his confusion read plainly on his face. 

“You know,” she groaned, moving her hands in aimless gestures as she tried to explain. “That you’re steering my ship? Climbing the mast pole? Rowing up the metaphorical stream?”

“I… was under the impression you no longer had a ship.”

She made an exasperated sound and shook her head as she threw her other leg over the balcony railing. “I’m talking about sex, Fenris,” she sighed. “She’ll think I’m stealing away her lover.”

_“What?”_ he asked, feeling even more confused than he had been. “Why would she think that?”

“Because, once upon a time, that was _exactly_ what she caught me doing,” she said with a wink over her shoulder before dropping off the balcony and climbing down to the square.

Fenris tilted his head to the side as he watched Isabela saunter through the square toward Lowtown. More than once Fenris found himself thinking back to the night he and Hawke had first kissed. It was a memory he replayed many times as he lay in bed, trying to lull himself to sleep. Usually, however, it was the hesitant, tender brush of lips against lips that fluttered through his consciousness. Now it was a completely different part of that night that rang through his mind. 

_I found out he was… intimate with someone else as well as me._

A few more pieces of the puzzle that was Anara Hawke fell into place. He remembered noticing her reluctance to trust Isabela when the Rivani had appeared in the Hanged Man. He also remembered her insistence that Isabela was ‘more concerned with her loins than her friendships.’ Isabela had been the one Anara’s former lover had betrayed her for all those years ago.

Interesting.

He heard Hawke come in the back door of the mansion and smiled to himself. Fenris knew he only heard Hawke come in when she wanted him to. He strolled across the room and onto the landing of the stairs to lean on the railing. 

“Good evening,” he said.

“Hello, Fenris,” she said with a smile as she crossed the room. “Pleasant day?”

“Indeed,” he said, watching her carefully. “You just missed Isabela.”

Anara froze with her foot on the first step of the stairs, looking up at him for a telling beat of silence before clearing her throat and continuing up the stairs. “Is that so?” she said, a little too neutrally. Fenris contained the grin that threatened to break across his face with an effort.

“Yes. She left when we saw you heading here.”

“And why would she do that?” she asked, joining him at the railing of the stairs. “She has nothing to hide from the likes of me, does she?”

Her tone had an edge to it that wasn’t normally there, and it was getting harder and harder to fight his smile. “She seemed to be under the impression that if you saw her here, you would conclude that she and I were being intimate.”

“I see…”

“Which is ridiculous.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“So, what, she just stopped by for a chat?”

“Something like that,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. “Let’s just say her influence has its uses around this city.”

Anara was silent for a few more moments, watching her fingers trace a pattern in the dust of the railing. “Isabela is very beautiful,” she said finally.

“True.”

“And very persuasive.”

“I suppose,” he allowed. 

“Most men would cut off their feet at the ankles for a chance with her.”

“I hardly think it would take anything so dramatic. I have a feeling Isabela does not have a very long list of requirements for potential bed partners.”

“True enough,” she said with a self-deprecating little smile. “Still, men have a hard time resisting her when she has her sights set on them. The ones who like women, anyway.”

“I do not think Isabela has any such sights set on the likes of me.”

Again she was silent and not looking at him. “And if she did?”

“If she did what?” he asked, ducking his head to try and catch her eye-line.

She reluctantly raised her eyes to his. “And if she did have her sights set on you?”

Fenris finally smiled, unable to help himself. “Then I’m sure I would make a great disaster in attempting to refuse politely, but a refusal it would remain.” 

Five years ago he might have thought her expression hadn’t changed at all, but he knew her much better now. The slight raise of her brow and the tiny parting of her lips spoke volumes to him. 

She cleared her throat again and looked away, but he saw the color rise in her cheeks. “Well, I suppose it’s none of my business. You’re both consenting adults.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Maker, this isn’t what I came to talk about.”

“I imagine not,” Fenris said with a small smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do you remember that string of murders a couple years ago? When all those women were going missing?” 

“Somewhat,” Fenris admitted. “When we found the ring on a severed hand in the Lowtown Foundry?”

“Yes, Ninette de Carrac was the first of many.” Hawke crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back against the railing. “Several women have gone missing over the years but according to Aveline and Emeric—“

“The Templar?”

“Right. The guard has considered them all isolated incidents because of the time between each murder.”

“You believe that is not the case, then?”

“That’s what Emeric believes, at least,” she said with a sigh. “And with Aveline on her honeymoon in Orlais, he’s asked me to look into someone he suspects to be the killer.”

“And you’re going to do this tonight?”

“Once we meet with the others, yes. Varric and Merrill will be joining us.” 

“Very well. Shall I meet you there?”

“I rather hoped we could all just meet here, if that’s alright.”

“Here?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “In the mansion? Why?”

“The murderer sort of lives next door to you.”

“And here I thought I had stolen a mansion in a _respectable_ neighborhood.”

* * *

Hawke had almost forgotten how _good_ it felt to fight at Fenris’ back. She’d only gotten a taste of it since he’d returned to Kirkwall before her duel with the Arishok, and after that she had been on a rather strict regimen of bed rest and boredom. Once they were confronted by the shades and demons that welcomed them at the DuPuis residence, they fell back into their old routines almost too naturally. It was instinctive, it felt like the way it was supposed to be.

It felt _right._

Gascard DuPuis’ mansion was surprisingly well kept and lavish for a man who was supposedly a mass murderer. If it weren’t for the demons attacking them she would have said it was a rather nice home. That was what made the really crazy ones so dangerous, she mused. They looked just like everyone else. 

“I am Gascard DuPuis,” Varric said in his best accent. “Tremble before me, no?”

“The name doesn’t exactly inspire fear, does it,” Hawke sighed as they climbed the stairs. 

“More like he kills you while you’re laughing so hard,” Varric said with a grin. “DuPuis. What a stupid name.”

They made their way into the last bedroom where the mage was standing over a middle aged woman with silver hair, crying helplessly. 

“You-you’re not him,” Gascard said. “Shit, I… I know what this looks like.”

“Yeah, okay, crazy,” Varric grumbled, sliding Bianca off his back. “How about you just step away from the woman and we’ll have a little chat?”

“If I let her go, you’ll kill me.”

“Very likely,” Fenris rumbled. 

“Miss Amell, you have to believe me,” Gascard said, turning to Hawke. “You have a sister, and you know what it’s like to lose a sibling.”

Hawke tensed. She’d never been recognized while in her garb as the Hawk. It was decidedly unsettling. She had forgotten that by revealing her identity during the duel with the Arishok, she lost all of her precious anonymity. 

“What is this about your sister?” she asked, not used to speaking to their targets directly. 

“The killer murdered my sister years ago. This is Alessa. I took her because I realized she was his next target, hoping I could kill the bastard myself. He has been killing in Kirkwall unchecked for some time now.”

“You’re a blood mage,” Hawke said in her iciest tone. “Why should we believe anything you say?” 

“Because we are running out of time,” the mage said, exasperated. 

“He’s lying,” Alessa cried. “He hurt me.”

“I’ve explained this already,” he groaned, turning around. “I needed your blood so that I could find you if he took you. It was for your protection.”

“Get away from me!” She scrambled back, kicking out with her feet and using the brief advantage to get herself upright and run around him. Fenris, arms crossed against his chest, let Alessa pass before stepping in front of Gascard to keep him from chasing after her. 

“Even if he’s not the one taking the women,” Fenris rumbled quietly. “He is still dangerous.”

“I agree,” Hawke said softly. “If you’re going to talk, I suggest you start now.”

Varric chuckled. “Twenty silver if he says, ‘It wasn’t me it was the one-armed man.’”

“He is a powerful and experienced blood mage,” Gascard explained. “He is using the women for some kind of ritual. They have all been the same age and general body type, but that is all the connection I have been able to make.”

“If that is true, how did you know Alessa was next?” Hawke asked.

“The lilies, of course,” He said. “It all starts when he sends them a bouquet of white lilies.”

Every muscle in Hawke’s body tensed to the point of pain.

_White lilies._

“Anara,” Fenris said, the urgency in his voice telling her that he had reached the same conclusion as her. 

“No,” she said, turning around to look at him. She searched his stern, unyielding face for any sign that he thought it was a coincidence, that it was all just a silly misunderstanding and they would all laugh about it later. 

She saw none of that though, only the implacable truth that something was very, very wrong. 

Hawke ran. She ran out of the house, listening to Varric and Merrill call out to her in confusion. Fenris was hot on her heels as she burst out of the mansion and sprinted toward her estate. Everything would be fine. She was going to burst through the door and Leandra was going to be outraged by her lack of manners. Everything was alright. 

Everything would be fine.


	41. The Mother

What the flaming blue hell was going on?

Varric had Merrill use the paralysis thing on Gascard DuPuis so they could chase after Hawke and the elf. He wasn't exactly sure whether the mage was telling them the truth, but he didn't want to take any chances and leave him to his own devices. Still, getting answers from him wasn't nearly as important as whatever had made Fenris and Hawke bolt from the house. 

By the time they caught up with them, the doors of the rogue's estate were flung wide and Varric and Merrill simply waltzed through them. 

“Where is she, Bodahn?” Hawke was growling. She had the dwarf up against the wall, holding him there by the front of his shirt so his feet kicked helplessly in the air. “Tell me, damn you, or I will run you through.”

The dwarf sputtered. “I told you, my lady,” he gasped. “She left to go see your uncle like always.”

“Then why is my uncle in the next room wringing his hands?” she sneered.

“I don't know, I swear! She left just after supper like she always does, she gave no indication that she wasn't going to her brother's.”

“Hawke,” Fenris said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We are learning nothing here.”

“What's going on?” Anders asked as he came through the hallway. “I heard the commotion from downstairs.”

“Excellent question, Blondie,” Varric said.

Fenris made eye contact with him, then motioned his head to the other side of the room where a vase of white lillies sat on a table. 

“Oh, shit,” Varric said. 

Merrill gasped. 

“Is someone going to fill me in?” Anders asked. 

“I'll explain on the way,” Hawke said, her voice like ice freezing gravel. “Merrill, stay here in case she comes back. Gamlen, we're going to your place to look for her.”

“Good idea,” Gamlen said, lifting up from the door frame to the library. “Perhaps I just missed her. There's... no reason to believe anything terrible has happened. She'll be waiting on my doorstep to lecture me for my tardiness.”

Hawke, Varric noticed, said nothing. He figured she believed that story about as much as he did. 

“We will find her,” Fenris said as he walked beside her. Varric and Anders followed behind. That familiar, coiling tension of dread wound up in Varric's stomach. He had a very, very bad feeling about all of this. 

They followed Gamlen down to Lowtown and split up at the courtyard. Gamlen went to check his hovel for Leandra, but Hawke cared more about questioning the various people milling about than following Gamlen's probably fruitless lead. It was about forty five minutes before an enterprising urchin overheard the questions they were asking. 

“I saw that lady,” he said, rubbing the foot of one leg against the calf of the other. “She came through about three hours ago.”

“She did?” Hawke asked, turning to him. “What was she doing? Who was she with?”

“What do I get if I tell you?” he asked, puffing up his chest. 

Hawke raised her hands like she was going to throttle him or shake him within an inch of his life. Varric didn’t get to see which she chose, however, because Fenris grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back before she got the chance.

“Here, kid,” Varric said, stepping forward and dropping a sovereign into his palm. “Tell us what you saw.”

“That's real gold, that is!” he crowed happily. “She was with a man. He looked like he was in bad shape. He asked that lady for help, and she started to take him further into Lowtown. He was bleeding something awful.” He pointed across the way to a rather liberal blood smear in the hard dirt. 

“There's a trail,” Anders said, looking down over the stairs and motioning for them to follow him. “Look, you can see it on the walls.”

“Where is he taking her?” Hawke asked no one in particular as she started to jog along the path, following the various smudges of brownish-red.

Varric met Fenris' eyes as they followed behind them, and he read the situation from the setting of the elf's jaw and the certainty in his eyes. Varric had written enough tragedies to know how this ended, and Fenris...

Well, Fenris had lived them. 

He wished he could say the demons that met them in the foundry were a surprise. The four of them carved their way down to the creepy underground lair, and no one took the unsettling shrine to a woman who looked like Leandra as a good omen. The further and further in they got, the more and more frantic Hawke became. He could see the trembling in her usually steady, lightning quick hands as she picked up a silver necklace from the dirt and laced it through her fingers: Leandra's necklace. More bad news. 

When they finally found the deranged blood mage, no one hesitated to fight their way through. Leandra was sitting in a chair without facing them, but Hawke was confident it was her. Like stories often did, it all lead up to one final monologue, the villain in question revealing that he'd been trying to revive his dead wife...

Piece by piece. 

Varric heard Fenris sneer something in that Tevinter language of his.

“I don't want to kill you,” Hawke said, her voice wavering dangerously. “I just want my mother back. Just let her go and we can all walk away from this.”

“She was so sure you'd come,” the blood mage said — Varric had taken to calling him Crazy in his head — as he reached to pet Leandra's silvery hair. “My beloved has been waiting for you.”

 _“Don't touch her,”_ Hawke sneered, squeezing her daggers in her fists. 

“Kill him,” Fenris growled. “He cannot be reasoned with.”

They launched toward him, only to be stopped by a wall of demons popping out of the ground. They fought harder and faster than they ever had; knowing that it was Hawke's family on the other side of the fight gave them all purpose. It had been a long time since the four of them had fought as a team like this, but they had never been more ruthless, or more efficient. 

The demons fell two and three at a time, and Crazy didn't have the strength to keep the four of them off him for long. In the end, Hawke threw a perfectly timed dagger that hit the blood mage right between the eyes and turned his lights out for good. 

“Maker,” Anders said softly, a hand over his mouth. Varric followed his eye-line and immediately wished he hadn't. 

“Holy shit.”

 _“Vishante Kaffas,”_ Fenris sneered.

Hawke was the only one who said nothing. She just stared, wide eyed at what used to be her mother.

Now, Varric had seen some shit in his life. He'd seen every side of the crazy scale, the darkest corners of the fade and the Deep Roads, the most outrageous, disgusting things that had ever been dreamed up by the evil and the wretched. 

Yet nothing prepared him for the sight of Leandra's face sewn onto the animated corpse hobbling around the dungeon. It moved with horrid, jerky motions, as if it only vaguely remembered how to be human. The stinging red seam along her throat where she'd been sewn together had traces of blood on it still. Her eyes were a sickening grey-green color, like the putrid flesh for which they were now the windows. 

Varric was speechless, which was no small thing. He watched the rigid muscle in Hawke's jaw set in that hard, unyielding line as she approached the corpse. 

“Anara?” it asked. 

“Mother,” Hawke said softly, her voice small and afraid. 

The abomination ambled closer to Hawke, hands outstretched. “I... knew you would come,” she said.

The way the head moved it was obvious that Leandra couldn't see through whoever's eyes were sewn into her head. Hawke, hands shaking, caught Leandra's hands and proceeded to catch her as the thing fell limply into her arms. Hawke hit her knees and held what used to be her mother across her lap before turning to look at them. 

“Anders?” she asked softly, not needing to voice the question that hung in the air like the executioner's blade. It was obvious from the look in her defeated, golden eyes that she already knew the answer to the unspoken question.

“Hawke,” Anders said weakly, taking a step forward and shaking his head. Varric didn't blame Blondie for his lack of eloquence. What the hell were any of them supposed to say?

She looked down into her mother's unseeing eyes and shook her head. “I didn't get here in time,” she said softly. “Mother, I... I'm so sorry.”

“Shhhh,” Leandra soothed. “It's alright, child. He would have... would have kept me locked up in here forever. You... you've set me free.” 

Hawke's stern features hardened as she grappled with her emotions, shaking her head back and forth. “Mother...”

“Now I get to see your father. Your brother.” Leandra's corpse jerked unnaturally. “You've always... been so strong, Anara. You've... carried my burden for long enough. It's time, girl.”

“I didn't mind your burden,” Hawke said with a watery smile. “Indeed, I hardly noticed it.”

Leandra tried to laugh, but it just game out as a dusty groan. “There's my girl,” she said weakly. “I've always... been so proud of you. You know that don't you?”

Hawke nodded, but realized then that Leandra couldn't see. “Of course,” she said softly. “I know, Mother.”

“Sing for me,” Leandra whispered. “One last time, my love. Let me hear you sing Malcom's song.”

Hawke covered her mouth, but was careful not to let Leandra know she'd done it, moving with her usual silence, once so effortless but now making her limbs shake with the strain. Eyebrows furrowed, Hawke looked up at the ceiling. For what, Varric had no notion, but after a few tortuous seconds of silence, she lowered her head again. 

_“M-may you bring love, and may you bring happiness,”_ she sang, her voice trembling but still that sweet, melodic, ethereal tone it had been the night Varric and Fenris had accidentally overheard it. _“Be loved in return, till the end of your days...”_ The last word tripped her up, forcing her to choke back a little sob and take a deep, steadying breath. Gently, she pushed Leandra's hair back from her forehead as she continued. _“Now, fall off to sleep; I'm not meaning to keep you. I'll just sit for a while and sing lu-li-lai-lay.”_

Varric looked to Fenris, who was still behind Hawke, the closest to grief-stricken as Varric had ever seen him. For a minute they held each other's eye contact; the two men Hawke trusted above all others, completely and utterly powerless to help her. What could they do? They both knew very well there was nothing they could do, no quarrel they could initiate, no jokes they could tell, no words of comfort or regret that they could voice that would do anything to ease the pain in their friend. Varric felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but he didn't turn away to hide them. He owed Hawke more than that. 

_May there always be angels to watch over you_  
To guide you each step of the way.  
To guide you and keep you safe from all harm  
Lu-li-lu-li-lai-lay  
Lu-li-lu-li-lai-lay 

By the time Hawke had stopped singing, it was obvious that Leandra, or at least whatever part of her had been in the corpse, was no longer with them. The corpse was now just a putrid amalgamation of Maker-only-knew how many women. Through her singing, or perhaps in spite of it, Hawke had become steadier, almost distant Varric decided. She looked down at the corpse in her arms, but she wasn't shaking, and it no longer looked like she was battling her emotions. In point of fact, it didn't look like she was feeling anything at all. 

That worried Varric far more than anything else would have. 

They stood there in silence for an eternity, no one knowing what to say. In the end, it was Hawke that finally spoke. 

“Should I even bury her?” she asked no one in particular. “How much of this... is even her?”

Varric found his voice next. “We can... take her to the Chantry...”

“No,” she said eventually. “I can't let Bethany see her this way. I don't want her to have nightmares.” 

She laid the corpse flat on its back and stood up, not taking her eyes off it. 

“Anders,” she said softly. “Burn it.”

Varric and Fenris looked up sharply. 

“W-what?” Anders asked.

“You heard me. Burn it.”

Anders looked to Varric and Fenris for what he should do, but it was clear that they were just as lost as he was. The mage went to Hawke's side. 

“Are you sure you-”

“Do it, Anders,” she said, more firmly this time. 

Anders swallowing thickly was the only sound in the disgusting little room, but after a few more seconds of panicked uncertainty, he waved a hand and set flame to the corpse. 

The four of them stood there, watching it burn and burn. Varric didn't know how long they stood there as the flesh melted, trying to ignore the rancid smell of death, but Hawke didn't stamp out the unnatural flame until the bones had turned to ash. It had to have been a few hours, Varric decided. 

He watched as Hawke removed a potion from a bag on her belt and poured it out in the dirt. Then she began the task of packing the ashes into the vial with her bare hands. 

“Hawke...” Varric began. 

“Bethany will want them,” she explained in that same worrisome, neutral tone. Once she packed enough ash in the vial to satisfy her, she stood and turned to them. Her golden eyes almost looked gray, Varric noticed. “Listen closely. The mage was kidnapping women who looked like his wife in order to attempt to possess them with his wife's spirit. Mother resisted in an attempt to escape, and in a rage he burned her to death. This and her necklace were all that were salvageable. Understood?”

The three of them exchanged looks with each other. It was clear they all understood her intent, but none of them liked it. 

They nodded, no one daring to say a word to contradict her. Varric hated the idea of Hawke adding this burden to her shoulders without even being able to talk to her sister about it, but what could he do? There was nothing they could say. The words didn't exist that would make this right, or even easier. They watched Hawke as she moved out of the dungeon and back toward the surface.

One by one they followed her, because what else could they do?

* * *

Fenris paced back and forth across his balcony, keeping an eye on Hawke's window. He had seen her head toward the Gallows in order to deliver the news to Bethany. She had refused anyone's company for the task, and Fenris knew she held herself responsible for her mother's death, as she held herself responsible for every other disaster that fell upon them. It was well after two in the morning by the time Hawke returned to her home. Her posture was still slumped, her gait was hollow and slow; there was no vitality in her steps, no pride in her shoulders. 

It was all so wrong. 

Fenris saw the light in her room come on as someone lit a fire in the hearth. He wondered if Anders was comforting her. He hadn't seen Merrill or Varric leave the house yet either. Were they all sitting with her? Or was she still refusing to allow them to keep her company? Fenris couldn't blame her. What could anyone say to her that would help? How many condolences could someone listen to?

Useless. He could speak four different languages and there wasn't a single word, or phrase in any of them that he could use to offer even a modicum of comfort. What was the point in learning to read and write if words failed him when he needed them the most?

That thought made Fenris stop in his tracks and stare across the way at Hawke's bedroom window. She didn't need words, he realized. She needed something much more primitive and base. Something that was instinctual only to Hawke.

She needed to run. 

He quickly retrieved the black tunic and leggings she'd given him for their little play to frighten off her brother's creditors. Once he had put them on, he ran out his front door to the Hawke estate. The light in the front drawing room warned him that he probably wouldn't get through the normal way, so he climbed up onto her balcony and knocked on her door, just as he had done the fateful night he'd left the city. 

She was sitting in a chair in front of the hearth, and she turned toward the door with uncharacteristic lethargy. He saw the recognition register in her eyes but she looked rather reluctant to get up. He tried the door handle and was glad to find it unlocked. Slowly he pulled the door open and leaned through the doorway. 

“Fenris, I really don't want any—“

“I'll race you to the coast,” he interrupted. 

She searched his face for long, tense moments. Fenris wondered if he'd miscalculated badly when she didn't immediately agree. She didn't say anything, but she was nodding. It was subtle, so subtle he wondered if he was just hoping that was the case. Slowly, however, the motion got more vigorous until she finally shot to her feet. 

“You're on.”

* * *

_Of course_ he couldn't keep up. 

Even without the encumbrances of his armor and sword, no one was a match for Hawke. No one had ever been faster than her. More stealthy? Sure. More deadly? Certainly. A better person? Of course. 

But no one was faster. 

She pounded her feet into the dirt until she couldn't hear the sounds of the city anymore. She ran until she could only hear her heart pounding in her ears and her breath bursting from her lungs. She ran until the sting in her eyes was from the wind and not from the tears. She ran harder than she'd ever run in her life. 

And still it wasn't enough. 

Her father had taught her to run in order to battle the turmoil in her mind and the strife in her heart. He taught her to run until the thoughts no longer plagued her, to exhaust herself until she no longer had the strength to feel sadness. Tonight, however, there was no battling them. The ghosts in the back of her mind had found the fuel they needed and she had no idea how she was supposed to deal with it. 

Damn him, her father hadn't prepared her for this. He couldn't have predicted that she was going to systematically fail him so fantastically. 

She came to a halt on the southernmost cliff of the Wounded Coast, the very cliff Anders had thrown her off. Instead of staring up at the stars like she always did when she was troubled, she stared down into the frothing black water. 

It would be so easy, she told herself. What did she owe this world now? Bethany didn't need her in the Circle. Everyone else that loved her was dead or had left her. What the hell was she waiting around for? Was it worth living a life that would amount to simply waiting for something to kill her worth holding on for? Who the hell would care? What was to stop her from taking that last step and letting the water finish what it failed to do twenty five years ago?

“I don't know what to say… but I am here.”

Fenris' voice cut through the night like a stone through stained glass. It made the muscles in her shoulders tense up and her breath catch in her throat. She could hear his hard, heavy breathing from trying to catch up with her. She turned over her shoulder just enough to see him. He had his hand on the rocky wall, holding himself up as he panted.

“Just... say _something,_ ” she said finally, turning back around. “Anything.”

She could tell that took him by surprise because he scrambled for something to say. 

“Er— they say death is only a journey,” he blurted. “Does... that help?”

She let out a little laugh, but it was more of a scoff. Behind her, she could hear him moving closer to her. “It's just... more questions,” she said, looking up at the sky this time. “Journey to where?”

“I don't know,” he admitted as he came to her side, following her eye-line up to the stars. “It's just... something that people say. To be honest, I don't think there is much point to filling these moments with empty talk.”

Her fists shivered at her sides and she was quickly losing the battle with her emotions. She didn't want to cry, she hated crying. So she latched onto the rage. 

“What the hell do _you_ know?” she sneered, whirling on him. “What the hell have _you_ ever lost?”

Her anger surprised him, and he met her burning eyes with no small amount of confusion. “I... only meant—“

“You don't know anything, Fenris!” she barked, pushing him in the chest and making him stagger back a step. “What can you possibly know about mourning? What can you know about grief?” She pushed him again, but this time he'd steadied his feet and hardly moved, so she opted to throw her fists into his chest. 

He said nothing, but neither did he stop her from hitting him. 

“You don't have a mother! You don't have a family!” she roared, hitting him in the chest with her fists again, feeling her voice starting to crack. “You don't know what it's like to love someone! You don't know what it's like to want to give them the world and then watch them die!” She hit him again, now starting to alternate fists as she pounded them into his chest after every accusation. “The only people you have ever mourned you murdered yourself! You don't know about love! You don't know my grief! You don't know this pain! You've never felt love for anything in your wretched life! You. Don't. Know. A damned. Thing!”

She threw her fists rapid fire into him one after another until he caught her wrists against his chest. His hard hands were like manacles, and when she tried to pull free, he simply tightened his grip. 

“Anara...”

 _“She was my mother!”_ she screamed, struggling against his powerful hands, desperate to free herself. “ _I promised!_ I gave my word that I would— that I would take—” Her voice finally broke. Hot, angry tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. She felt the tremors making her shoulders shiver and knew then that it was inevitable.

She looked up at the stars and howled her grief at the sky. The sound tore out of her throat like glass, shattering the silence of the night, cleaving through it ruthlessly. Her body crumpled under the tremendous weight of her sorrow, but before she could fall to her knees, Fenris released her wrists and caught her. He wrapped his strong arms around her as he sank down to his knees with her, bringing her into his chest so her chin rested over his shoulder. 

Anara cried harder than she'd ever cried in her life. Loud, full-throated sobs between gasping breaths. She shook under the force of her tears, her shoulders heaved with her breaths. She gave herself up to the sorrow and let it start to drown her like an ocean never could. 

She cried for her father, who she had watched gasp for breath. She cried for Carver whose dying breath she could still hear leaving his body. She cried for Bethany, shackles round her wrists and trapped in a world she'd been running from her whole life. She cried for her mother, because she just so happened to look like someone. 

Hawke cried for her failures, for the family she let down, for the lovers who left her. She cried for the strangers she'd failed to save, for the war she failed to stop, for the long nights spent working herself to near exhaustion to a provide for a family that was gone. She cried for the wasted life, the wasted years, the wasted love. 

Anara Hawke cried. She cried for what felt like hours. 

Fenris simply held her, maintaining his unyielding silence. As she cried herself to exhaustion, she realized that he was softly rocking her back and forth in his arms. His tunic was thoroughly soaked from her tears, but he hadn't loosened his grip for even an instant. He held her so tight for so long she imagined his arms had to be aching, but he didn't move. 

She went limp against him, tucking her face into the crook of his neck as she started to shiver. Her seemingly endless sorrow finally tapered to soft, whimpering sniffles against Fenris' chest. She had cried until she was utterly drained, until she didn't even think her body could produce anymore tears. Hours had passed, she realized as she noticed the very first shaft of sunlight had started to lighten the sky. 

She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what the next step was. She knew she should probably apologize, but she didn't know that she would mean it, or if she had the strength for it. 

Luckily she didn't have to do any of those things. Like he always seemed to, Fenris just knew what to do. He shifted her weight and swept her up into his arms before wordlessly starting to carry her home. 

Anara closed her eyes, no longer willing to put up any kind of fight against the terrible fatigue.

* * *

Varric, Anders, and Merrill all stirred when Fenris carried Hawke in through the front door of her mansion. They expressed varying degrees of disbelief that they hadn't even known she was gone. Varric, Fenris noted, didn't seem all that surprised. 

Fenris made no excuses; he owed them to no one. Instead, he told them all to go home before carrying Anara up the stairs to her bedchamber. Gently, he set her on the edge of the bed so he could put fresh wood on the fire and stoke it back to a small blaze. Once that was done, he began to carefully peel Anara out of her clothes. There was no heat, no intent in his movements, however. From the empty, exhausted look on Anara's face, he wondered if she was even aware of his actions. 

He stripped her down to her underclothes before pulling back the blankets on her bed and gently settling her inside them. He pulled _Midnight Masquerade_ from her bookshelf, remembering her telling him it was one of her favorites when she'd had him read it over the course of his lessons. He pulled the large wing-backed chair to her bedside and settled in it, crossing an ankle over his knee as he started to read aloud. 

Fenris read to her until the sun had fully risen in the sky. He couldn't even count the number of times she had fallen asleep while listening to him read to her. It was a small chance, but nonetheless he hoped that it would be the case that morning. 

“It's not fair,” he heard her say, interrupting his reading. 

He stopped and looked over at her. “No. It isn't.” 

There was another bout of silence and he wondered if he should continue reading. 

“I shouldn't have said those things to you.”

He didn't know what she wanted him to say to that, so he opted for silence. 

“I don't know that I'm sorry, though,” she said finally.

“It's alright. I forgive you anyway.”

Her jaw firmed and her lips drew into a tight line in what Fenris now recognized as her trying not to cry. 

“Does he hate me?” Her voice was weak and broken. He didn't even know if he'd heard her right. 

“Does who hate you?”

“The Maker,” she said, a silent tear escaping the corner of her eye and dampening her pillow. 

“Anara...”

“He must. He must hate me.” She shook her head and inhaled a shuddering breath. “Everyone I have ever loved... in my _whole_ life... has either been taken from me or left.”

Fenris felt a stab of guilt shaft through his chest. She had never told him that she loved him, but he suspected that he fit into the latter category. 

“I must be a terrible person,” she squeaked through quiet tears, “to be so unworthy of love.”

And just like that, something in Fenris irreparably shattered.

The words hurt him like nothing ever had before. The pain they caused was so acute it made him suck in a breath through his teeth. Before he could think of anything to say, she turned away from him to lay on her side. Her arms moved so that they were both covering her head as she cried quietly. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong. He wanted to tell her that he loved her like he'd never loved anything in his life. Even if he was too stupid to fully wrap his head around it, he wanted to tell her that she was wrong and that she possessed a part of him that he'd never get back. 

He knew very well that if he were to say the words now, she wouldn't believe him, and he would not blame her for it. He no longer held her trust as he once did, and he had given her ample reason to doubt the authenticity of his feelings. No, now was not the time. 

But he couldn't just sit there either.

Fenris closed the book softly and set it on her nightstand before pulling the corner of the blankets back and sliding in behind her. She didn't protest when he wrapped his arms around her, but neither did she move into his touch. 

He nosed gently into her hair and held her. He didn't tell her to stop crying. He didn't tell her it would be alright. He didn't tell her the worst was over, or that it could only get better from there. He'd come to terms with being a coward where Hawke was concerned, but he wasn't a liar. 

She said nothing, but she did turn over in his arms and press her face to his chest, clutching at his tunic as she cried. He cradled the back of her head in one hand, and pressed the other into the small of her back. 

“You will get through this,” he said quietly, because it was the only thing he could say that he knew was true. “You are the strongest, most incredible person I have ever met. I have been in awe of you since the very first day I laid eyes on you.”

“Fenris...”

“You will get through this,” he repeated, tenderly brushing her hair out of her face. “I will be here through every step.”

She looked up at him, her eyes red and stinging, the skin around them was swollen from all the crying she'd done. Still, he could see the terrible exhaustion there and the too-familiar ghosts behind the pools of gold.

“No more running?” she asked, her voice wavering. 

“No more running,” he confirmed, wiping away tears with his thumb. Still a little unsure of himself, he bent his head and put a soft, lingering kiss on her eyebrow. “Sleep, if you can,” he whispered against her skin. “I've got you, Anara.”

It took a few minutes for her tears to stop falling again, but eventually she settled against him and surrendered to her exhaustion. Once he was sure she was asleep, he firmed his arms around her and let himself drift off. 

They slept, both of them only able to do so because the other was there.


	42. The Crow

Even as exhausted as she was, her sleep was restless. She was haunted by the last moments with the ambling corpse that had contained the last few moments of her mother’s conscious life; the burning, bloody seam across her throat; the lifeless, gray, unseeing eyes that had been sewn into the sockets; the sickening, jerky, movements as it had shuffled closer and closer.

Her nightmares had never been so vivid. She could still smell rotting flesh; she could still hear the sound of her mother’s slippered feet as they slid uneasily over the dirt floor of the dungeon; she could feel her stomach turning, the sting of tears in her eyes, the shaking in her hands. 

She sat up like a shot in her bed, calling out for someone that she knew wasn’t there, panting and panicked. The aching in her head was compounded by the sunlight shining through her windows. It had to be close to noon, she realized, putting her hand on her forehead and sighing when it burned in her palm.

When she felt the bed beside her shift she turned to see Fenris beside her, sitting up and leaning back on his hand. He looked at her with the concerned expression of someone who had no idea what to say.

“Fenris,” she breathed, putting her hands back in her lap. “You’re still here.” 

His eyebrows upturned and she saw the motion of his throat as he swallowed. “Yes,” was all he said in response. He sat up so that he was shoulder to shoulder with her. 

Anara threw the covers back and moved to get out of bed. Her legs ached and she steadied herself on the bedpost. 

“Where are you going?” Fenris asked as he, too, got out of the bed. “You should be resting.”

“I cannot lie about in bed all day and feel sorry for myself.” 

“You lost your mother yesterday, no one expects you to—”

“And what will laying in my bed crying about it do, hmm?” she growled as she made her way to her dresser. “Tell me, Fenris, will grieving pathetically while swaddled in my sheets bring her back?”

“Anara…”

“There is work to be done, and it doesn’t go away because I got my mother killed.”

She heard him sigh in resignation and turned to look at him. He was leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed. 

“Very well,” he said softly, his face once again that steely, unyielding mask. “What is it you intend to do about the party downstairs?”

“The what?”

“Varric, Merrill, Isabela, and Anders are all downstairs in the parlor. I believe Orana has made them breakfast.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in confusion, and he tapped the edge of his long, pointed ear with the tip of one of his fingers. 

“Ah, right. You can hear them.”

“And then some.”

She groaned and ran her fingers through her hair. “First I am going to bathe. I will… deal with the rest later.” 

“Very well,” he said, setting himself down in the high backed chair he’d been in the night before. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“You, of course.”

“You don’t need to--”

He raised one hand to motion for silence, then pointed at the door as if dismissing her to the washroom. It was obviously useless to try and get rid of him, and she wagered he was less inclined to an argument than she was today. Instead of set off _that_ particular powder keg, she just shook her head, taking her clothes with her as she stomped out of the room. 

* * *

 

Fenris supposed he couldn’t blame Hawke for wanting to be distracted; she was not a woman who let herself succumb to grief as others were. She dove back into her duties as the Champion of Kirkwall, answering even the tiniest summons for her aid. No one was able to breach the subject of Leandra without a thorough dressing down, so eventually everyone just let the rogue have her space. What else could they do? Fenris told Orana that she could come to him with any concerns for Anara and he would try his best to help, but that was as far as he dared meddle into her affairs. If she wanted to talk to him, he would listen, but he would not force her. He knew better. 

They all did. 

Her attitude was a constant cause for concern with Fenris. It wasn’t so much their day-to-day interactions that bothered him. Those had been stilted and awkward for long before Leandra’s death. It was the way Hawke fought now that concerned him so greatly. She had always had a bit of a reckless streak in her, but this was clearly different. She rarely took care to use her stealth or her silence. She charged into a battle before assessing the situations, she did not strategize, nor did she prepare. She simply unsheathed her daggers and dove in, now, swiping wildly and making the rest of her team catch up with her. 

Varric received a rather harsh lecture from Hawke when Aveline came back from her honeymoon early, knowing immediately that the dwarf had written to her to inform her of the news. Aveline eventually dragged Hawke back to her home by the collar of her vest. Fenris had no idea what they ended up doing or saying to each other, but he was glad that Aveline had come back. She was a grounding force and she had been missed, and he knew that Hawke would be willing to talk to the Captain about things that she was not comfortable talking to the rest of them about. 

They were fighting through a meeting of rebel mages and templars when Aveline noticed Hawke’s newfound reckless fighting style. Fenris had been trying to balance it for almost two weeks now, anticipating her movements to try and cover her back, sometimes coming very close to being too late. Their battles were no longer easy and fluid, but an endurance test that left him more exhausted every time. Aveline’s added strength was hardly helpful in that regard, as it did little to counteract Hawke’s desire to get in and end a battle single-handedly. 

As it turned out, however, Aveline’s strength of arms was not what ended up being their saving grace. 

“What the hell was that?” the Captain barked, yanking Hawke to a stop by her arm.

“What?” Hawke snapped back. 

“You! What are you thinking diving into a fight like that?”

“I got the job done, didn’t I?”

“It’s not like you to be sloppy, Hawke. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

The following silence was deafening. She didn’t defend herself. Didn’t counter what Aveline had said. She just stood there, her sharp, implacable face hardening in the harsh moonlight.

Fenris felt his insides go cold as he stared at Hawke, wishing she would say something, anything that meant it wasn’t true. But she didn’t. She just yanked her arm out of Aveline’s grip, turned on her heel, and walked away.

“We don’t have time for this,” she mumbled as she stalked off.

The three of them stood there, speechless and staring after her. It all made so much sense now; her recklessly charging into battle, the careless, hasty way she would finish a fight no matter the cost.

“A suicide mission,” Varric said once they were back at the Hanged Man, breaking the horrible silence between the three of them. 

“No,” Aveline said softly. “You can’t think she’d really…”

“What else could it be? The elf and I have been jumping through hoops to keep up with her lately.”

“It has been like this since Leandra was killed,” Fenris said solemnly, arms across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. 

“It makes sense, Aveline,” Varric said. 

The Captain shook her head and Fenris could hear the metal of her gauntlets creaking as she squeezed her hands into fists. “I should have been here,” she said. “I should have-”

“Enough,” Fenris said, standing up from his seat. “Do not start, Captain.”

“He’s right,” Varric said. “We already have Hawke half-insane from guilt. We can’t have you there, too. There’s no reason to think this would have ended any differently if you’d been here.”

Aveline firmed her mighty jaw and nodded, standing up as well. “You’re right, of course,” she said, though Fenris wasn’t sure if she believed it. “It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“It _isn’t_ fair,” Fenris agreed. “Remarking upon it is hardly helpful.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Varric asked. “Short of breaking Bethany out of the Circle, I mean. There aren’t exactly a large number of ‘Sorry your entire family is dead or imprisoned’ greeting cards.” 

Aveline sighed and leaned her hands on the table. “She can’t give up,” she said softly. “She knows Bethany would never forgive her.”

“Perhaps that is why she is trying to get our enemies to do the job for her,” Fenris added. 

Aveline and Varric stilled for a tortured moment of silence.

“How can you be so matter-of-fact about this?” Aveline demanded.

Fenris unclenched his fists and spread out his fingers, though he kept his face impassive as he turned to look at her. “I am trying to be logical,” he said. 

“This isn’t the time for _logic,”_ she insisted. “Anara is trying to commit suicide by bandit and the most you can do is be _logical?_ ”

Fenris’ markings came alight and his hand moved all on its own. In a single underhanded swipe, he threw a stray mug off the table and sent it careening into the wall so hard that it shattered, uttering a soft sound of frustration as he sent it flying.

Varric and Aveline watched the pieces fall to the ground before turning back to Fenris. His hands were at his sides as he tried to concentrate on getting his lyrium under control, trying to calm the hard breaths pumping from his chest. 

“I have to be logical,” he said, his voice low and strained as it came out between his teeth. “Because if I am not, then I will kill someone.”

* * *

“I don’t understand why you’re so interested in questioning this… assassin first,” Aveline said. “Whatever happened to slice first and ask questions later?”

“He’s an Antivan Crow, Aveline,” Hawke growled from behind her mask. “I’ve had run-ins with them before and they are not to be trifled with. Besides, if this guy has pissed off the Crows enough to warrant an entire group to come after him, he is either very good, or very, _very_ bad.”

Fenris felt the hair on the nape of his neck stir as they worked their way through the caves. He’d heard things about the Antivan Crows before, and he knew that they were a group of very dangerous individuals. The leader of their little group had been Nuncio and from what Fenris could tell, the best case scenario was that he wasn’t telling them everything. Which meant that the worst case scenario, of course, was that he was lying completely and sending them into a trap. 

It didn’t take a particularly astute individual to notice how tense Anara had become. It had been barely two months after the death of her mother and she was still using her high-risk high-reward style of fighting that made them all so uncomfortable. This tension, however, was new. Ever since receiving the letter from Nuncio, she had seemed altogether different. Why, he had no idea. He didn’t recollect any time in the past seven years that they had dealt with Antivan Crows, and it was rare for something to get under Hawke’s skin on reputation alone. 

As they fought their way through the spiders and various undead that inhabited the caves, he wondered just what she knew of the Crows. Or perhaps what troubled him more was potentially _how_ she knew it. 

He tried to put it out of his mind as Varric, Aveline, and he fought through the caves with her. None of them were pleased with seeing that the varterral - the giant stick-like monster they had killed once before - was somehow alive and kicking again. When Varric suggest that they turn back and that the assassin wasn’t worth the trouble, Hawke refused and dove toward the monster with her usual reckless speed. 

Fenris rolled his eyes and followed after her, determined to save her from herself if he had to. This had to stop eventually. Something had to give. He had tried to breach the subject carefully more than once, but with no great successes. Perhaps now was not the time for care. Perhaps he needed to shout her down the way she’d been doing to them. Treading carefully was earning them no progress. Perhaps it was time to be firm. 

They were catching their breath from the battle when Fenris heard a shifting sound from behind them. 

“There,” he said, turning toward the alcove at the northernmost corner of the cave. “There’s someone in there.”

The four of them approached and Fenris was more than a little confused when an elf - clearly not Dalish - came out of the alcove. Not in surrender but smiling widely as if he had just received incredible news. Anara, Fenris noticed, froze to a stop. Varric and Aveline, on the other hand, seemed just as confused as he was.

“Now, _you_ four, I wasn’t expecting,” the elf said, one eyebrow arrogantly arched. “How do you do? My name is-”

“Zev?”

Anara’s voice was so small that Fenris was aware that the only people who heard it were himself and the other elf. Fenris looked toward Anara before shifting his gaze back to the stranger. The elf was studying what he could see of Anara’s face as if translating a dead language, but Fenris saw recognition flash in the man’s eyes. His expression dropped and he took a step closer to her, looking at her now as if seeing her for the first time. 

“Those eyes,” he said softly. “I would know those eyes everywhere.” He slowly reached out to her as if he were going to touch her face. 

Fenris didn’t know why but he felt the sudden urge to reach out and stop him, regardless that he was curious as to what was going on. It took effort, but he resisted the urge, flexing out his hands and preparing to grab his sword if he needed to.

“But, you _cannot_ be my songbird,” the stranger said, gently tugging Anara’s mask down. 

“Zevran,” she said, slowly shaking her head, staring at him like she couldn’t quite believe he was there. 

“Ah, so it _is_ you,” he said, smiling widely now as he pushed down her hood and freed her hair. “It has been a long time, Anara.” 

“I thought you were dead,” she said softly. “The… the blight…”

“Songbird, you should know better,” he said with a pompous, superior little smile. “You always said I was slippery.” He put a gloved finger under her chin and tipped it up. Then he bent his head and kissed her.

Fenris’ hand was moving before he even recognized that it was happening, and if it hadn’t been for Varric taking him by the wrist to stop him, he might have pummeled the assassin. Or pulled Anara out of his reach. He wasn’t quite sure which. Fenris had been angry before, but it had never been like this. It wasn’t red and bloody like the anger Danarius had nurtured in him. It was white. It was hot. It was _blinding._ He heard his teeth snap together and felt the angry sound fight to get out of his throat. 

Anara and the assassin didn’t seem to notice him, however, and that hurt him in an entirely different way. 

Logic be damned, Fenris was definitely going to kill someone.


	43. The Mentor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN: Confession time. I have been suffering a huge hit to the confidence lately. Between working full time, getting sick, and all the other inumerable things going on in my life, I haven't been able to get as much writing done as I'd like. And honestly, I almost got to the point where I wanted to give it up over the past few weeks.**
> 
> **If it weren't for those of you that commented last week and told me not just that you liked the chapter, but why, and sent me your amazing messages of support, I honestly think I might have just hung this story up for good. But I read each and every one of your comments and I hold them close to my heart and let them push me onward. So if you ever think that I'm not reading your comments, don't. Because I am. And they are literally the only reason I found the inspiration to keep writing this story over the past couple weeks, so thank you. From every part of my heart. You don't know what it means to me. Without your feedback, this story wouldn't exist. period. Please don't ever think there's no point to your messages. I read them all I promise. Thank you. Thank you sooooo much.**
> 
> **Love, love, love,  
>  Roarkshop**

What in the seventh ring of hell was going on?

Anara Hawke felt like she was locked in some sort of magical paralysis. She could feel the hauntingly familiar press of Zevran's lips against hers, she felt all the same warmth in his touch and could even smell that very unique blend of leather and spice that had always perfumed the air he occupied...

… and yet, a kiss had never made her feel so much... _nothing._  

She didn't exactly participate in the kiss, but she didn't quite pull away either. Part of it was being far too stunned to do much of anything. She was grappling with the fact that not only was Zevran Aranai alive after all this time, but he was here, within arm’s reach. And he was kissing her. 

The other part, she supposed, was that treacherous part of herself that, despite everything, was incredibly happy to see him.  It was a long time since their relationship had ended and she had never had any ill will toward him. She certainly hadn’t wished him harm, so it was _good_ to know he was alive and well.

Once she realized that this wasn't some delusional fever dream brought on by sleep deprivation, she finally raised her hands and gently pressed them into Zevran's chest, pushing him away. Not rudely, or even forcefully, just enough to break the kiss apart. 

She smiled and let out a soft little laugh as she pulled back to look at him. "I see surviving the Blight did nothing to improve your manners."

He laughed that same victorious, melodic sound and pulled her into his chest, spinning her around in a hug that was all at once familiar and so very different. 

"Songbird, I have missed you! How much you have done since last I looked upon you. Champion of Kirkwall!" He clasped his hands on her shoulders with a proud, almost parental grin on his face. "You have done well for yourself in my absence."

"This is hardly the time to catch up," she said once she pulled away. "There is a price on your head, remember."

"Have you ever known me when there was not a price on my head?"

She felt herself smiling and shaking her head. "I suppose not."

Varric clearing his throat much too loudly was what finally got the pair's attention. She looked first to him, taking in the curious arched eyebrow that told her she was going to be answering a string of awkward questions later. Then she looked at Fenris, who looked by all accounts exactly the way she imagined any predator looked when it felt threatened. His shoulders were high and tense, his teeth were just slightly bared in a soft snarl, and his hands were clenched into rigid fists at his sides. Even his lyrium was humming with energy, glowing softly and responding to his anger. 

She smiled a little wider. 

 

Varric crossed his arms over his chest and sank back on a foot. "I know there's a story here, so how about we make it quick?"

Hawke sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Right, uhm..." She cleared her throat. "Everyone, this is Zevran Aranai. We're old friends. A lifetime ago he was my mentor. Everything that makes up the Hawk, I owe to him."

"Ah, the good old days, yes?" he crooned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to face her comrades with her. "I was still a Crow, you were still fresh-faced and worry-free."

"More like young and stupid."

"But what is the point to being young if not to also be stupid?"

Anara rolled her eyes with a smile before continuing, gesturing with a hand at the party. "These are my friends: Varric Tethras, Aveline Hendyr, and Fenris."

"Any friend of the Songbird is a friend of mine," he said with a bow. 

Varric nodded. "Pleasure."

"Ah, nice to meet you," Aveline said. 

Fenris, on the other hand, didn't so much as shift his eyes. 

"Right," Anara said, trying to cut the awkward silence. "So... now that everyone's caught up—"

"You call that caught up?" Varric insisted. "Ten sovereigns says that hasn't even broken the surface."

"Maker's sake, Varric, we can do this later, wouldn't you say? We are about to be on the _very_ bad side of a _very_ large group of _very_ dangerous assassins. Once they find out we haven’t killed their target..."

“Their _very_ handsome target,” Zevran interjected

"We are certain, then," Fenris began, the words coming out through his teeth without taking his eyes off of Zevran, "that we should abandon the original plan?"

Everyone looked at him. 

"He's an... old friend of Hawke's," Aveline said diplomatically. "You can't think we'd still kill him."

"It crossed my mind," he growled.

Zevran tilted his head to the side and that same old slow, secretive grin spread across his face. "Oh, now _you_ ," he said, pointing at him. "You, I am going to like."

 

* * *

 

Fenris did not recall ever being in a fouler mood. He was storming inside. His ability to keep his face expressionless and passive was compromised. The cool, emotionless demeanor on which he prided himself was in a shambles — shredded to pieces like so much tissue paper.

He was angry. More angry than he had ever been under Danarius. This was not the uncontrolled, bloodthirsty rage that poured through him when the magister called upon his pet monster. This was a deep, murderous, vengeful thing. It was a resentment that until now, he realized with some wry amusement, Fenris had saved solely for his former master and his sycophants. It wasn’t just that though, it was more. Uglier. Stronger.

It was jealousy. And he knew it.

He had watched the way the former Crow and Anara danced around each other. The way that Varric, Aveline, and himself had become all but useless while the two rogues systematically exterminated the remainder of Nuncio's men. They flowed together like water, like music, like two halves of a whole that should have never been separated. 

What was worse, Fenris realized as he stared hopelessly down into his untouched pint of ale, was that he'd been wracking his brain for a way to get Anara smiling again for weeks. He’d _longed_ to see her laugh and to somehow banish the shadows from her expression. This... This... _Zevran_ had managed to do so with his presence alone. The fact that anyone could make Anara look so pleased, so _carefree,_ made a pit settle in his stomach the size of a cannonball.

Fenris spared another glance to the other end of the long table he was sitting at in the back room. Zevran was sitting at the other end, sandwiched between Anara and Isabela, who were both laughing heartily as he regaled the table with stories of their younger selves. Fenris’ heart clenched painfully in his chest just to see the light he brought to Anara’s face. Had he _ever_ been able to do that? He couldn't remember if she'd ever laughed that hard in the seven years he'd known her. 

Fenris had been a slave. A member of the lowest possible class. A tool for use. An uneducated, stupid nobody surrounded by Tevinter’s elite. Yet, Fenris had never felt so inferior. As he stared down the length of a table, watching Anara holding her stomach as she laughed, he wondered if he’d been kidding himself all along.

What a fool he'd been to think that she would give him another chance. Why would she go back to him? He who had hurt her after scarcely one night together, who had abandoned her in a time when she'd needed him most?

When Anara had told him about the man in her past who had abandoned her, he never imagined it was another elf. Not that it mattered overmuch, but it irked him for some reason. And an assassin into the bargain. A man who had played not only lover, but mentor to her. As he listened to the other elf talk about how he, Anara, and Isabela had been thick as thieves those years ago, he realized that Zevran had something that Fenris could never claim to have. He had _history_ with Anara. Nostalgia. Fenris didn't even have those things on his own. He had no history, no childhood stories, no entertaining anecdotes to share. Zevran had found Anara in a pivotal part of her adolescence and had helped shaped her into the woman she now was. How was Fenris to compete?

"So there I am," Isabela said through her laughing, firmly pressed against Zevran's shoulder as she sat beside him. "Completely naked with the girl, when who should walk in but Zevran's contract mark? ' _What are you doing with my wife_!' Oh, he was simply roaring with rage." 

"He had her hanging out the window naked when Zevran and I got there," Anara said, sitting on the other side of Zevran with her chin in her hand. Smiling that... damned smile. 

"It was definitely not the first, nor the last of my contracts that featured more than one naked woman," Zevran said with a laugh. 

"Not that we ever could get Hawke to join us in a threesome," Isabela said with a sigh before leaning forward so she could see Hawke. "Such a prude you are, Magpie."

"And yet, I have still seen you naked more times than I dare count," Hawke shot back.

_She'll think I'm stealing her lover, because once upon a time, that was exactly what she caught me doing._

The words Isabela had spoken to him those months ago came back to him with startling clarity, and Fenris felt his hands tighten around his ale. The assassin had hurt her too, to the point where she sealed herself off from love for over a decade. Zevran was no better than him, he realized. Fenris knew he didn't deserve another chance, but neither did the Crow. The thought alone strengthened his resolve.

"It's getting late," Anara said, pushing up on her hands. "I should head home. I have things to do in the morning."

"Ah, I will escort you," Zevran said, standing before Fenris even had the chance. "I am anxious to see the grand palace in which you now dwell."

"It is hardly a palace," she said, blushing a little, "but I know better than to try and lose you when you are determined not to be lost."

"You have become very wise in your old age."

She punched his shoulder. "I'm not old. _You're_ old!"

Fenris watched them go, feeling the way his ears drooped and his eyebrows upturned. The hurt must have been obvious on his face because Aveline's hand squeezed his shoulder. "Do not despair," she said softly. "That chapter of her life is over." 

"Jealous," Isabela said, instantly grabbing Fenris' attention, thinking she was talking about him. " _I_ was hoping to have a tumble with him tonight. It's been _so_ long since I've bedded anyone with real skill. Seems Hawke beat me to him."

"Shut up, whore," Aveline growled. 

"What?" Isabela said with a dainty shrug. "As if Zevran would walk someone home out of the kindness of his heart? Please."

"She has a point," Varric said, leaning back in his chair. "He doesn't seem the type to exercise gallantry for gallantry's sake." 

"You..." Merrill leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "You think he's going to seduce her?"

"Of _course_ he's going to seduce her," Isabela said, "and it's about bloody time, if you ask me. Someone needs to get that stick out of her ass. Who better than an expert?" 

Fenris stood up so abruptly that it drew the attention of the entire table. He could hear his own teeth grinding in his mouth as he leaned into his shoulders. 

He looked up and realized that everyone was staring at him and he slowly put his hands back to his sides and straightened his posture. "I am going home," he growled, stepping over the bench. 

He didn't bid anyone goodnight. He just turned and stalked out of the Hanged Man, trying to ignore the way his lyrium threatened to react to his anger. An anger, he knew, he had no right to feel, but was far too powerful for him to simply ignore.

 

* * *

 

 

"That was a little much," Aveline said to Isabela.

"What, it worked, didn't it?"

"Maybe a little too well," Varric said with a laugh. "What if he kills him?"

"That won't happen."

"Are you sure?" Merrill asked. "He looked... awfully angry."

"Of course I'm sure. Trust me. Fenris, skilled though he is, will not be a match for the likes of Zevran. Not by a long shot."

 

* * *

 

 

Zevran Aranai was not good at many things, but listening was certainly one of them. Along with killing, fighting, lovemaking, storytelling — oh, very well. He was good at a great many things. Listening among them. 

They spent the better part of two hours catching up. They talked in front of the fire in the parlor, sitting on the floor as they had done so many times in their youth. He told her of Rinna, albeit a very compacted, short version of the story, and how it led to him meeting Derrick Cousland. He told her about his travels with the Hero of Ferelden and the unlikely friendships he'd made, and it was his sharing that eventually got her to yield and tell him about what had happened after the blight. 

His heart broke for her, to hear of the hardship she had endured since moving to Kirkwall. She always did put so much blame on herself. Even after she had walked in on him and Isabela, she had still asked him what she had done wrong. He imagined she still blamed herself for making the relationship something that it wasn't. Despite everything, she never thought to blame Zevran for misleading her. He had never intended to, of course, but he was as much to blame for her broken heart as she was. Yet, she bore the brunt of the blame as she had always done.

Ah, how little things could change in a decade. 

She listed the events that led up to her losing her family as if talking about nothing more interesting than items on her grocery list. That was, until he asked about Fenris. 

It was obvious right from the start that there was something between her and the elf. He was observant, after all. He saw the way she had looked to Fenris to gauge his reaction when Zevran had kissed her in the caves. He had also seen the way the elf had been all spikes and odd glowing after aforementioned kiss. It was all quite delicious, really.

Anara explained the man’s life as a slave and how a distrustful partnership had bloomed to an intimate friendship, and then more. She told him of a single night of passion that she had thought changed everything for the better, until Fenris had run away for one reason or another. She told him of how he had come back in the nick of time, accompanied by who else but Derrick.

Derrick. Always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Zevran was forever chastising him for how he could wheedle into the most intimate details of the lives of strangers. It was going to get him killed someday.

More than once as Anara talked, Zevran asked her why Fenris himself was not there, ravishing her and making her forget her troubles, and not once did he seem to get an answer that satisfied him.

She loved him. It was as obvious as if it had been tattooed across her forehead. But love was not something that she, or the other elf for that matter, seemed to have the most experience in. She was still frightened, naturally, though she hardly would admit that. Zevran certainly never did. She did not want to trust in her emotions when they seemed to consistently let her down. He knew that feeling only too well, and he knew that meant she was not going to be the one to close the gap that had been created. So that meant that Fenris was going to have to do it. 

What an interesting project this would turn out to be while he waited for Derrick to meet him.

He was sure the Hero of Ferelden was going to be only too happy to call him a hypocrite.

Zevran left Anara's a little past midnight, kissing her cheek and telling her that he was more than happy to help with whatever she needed while he was in town. He left the mansion and strolled back toward Lowtown, hands behind his back. Waiting for his attacker.

How long had he been waiting for him to come out, Zevran wondered. Had he been outside her home the whole time? Wearing a groove into the pavement with his pacing? Or was it a last minute decision, fueled by bad ale and worse whiskey?

The attacker was not overly obvious, but neither was he stealthy by any means. Zevran imagined that the other man had gotten used to being able to get the drop on his opponents.

Zevran allowed the elf to grab him from behind and slam him up against the wall, doing, he thought, an admirable job of playing unawares.

"What in—"

"Stay away from her," Fenris growled through his teeth. Now that they were face to face, Zevran noticed the elf's markings giving off a faint bluish light the way they had that afternoon in the caves. Interesting.

"Ah, so it is you, then," Zevran said with a smile. "I was wondering when you might show."

"What?"

"Well, you have been scowling at me since this afternoon. I knew it was only a matter of time before our inevitable confrontation. Tell me, is this a fight, or a seduction? Either way, I am very much looking forward to seeing what you can do."

The other elf made some sort of angry sound through his teeth and released Zevran's tunic. "You've been warned," he said before he turned to walk away.

"What, is that all?" Zevran asked, starting to follow him. "No slap across the face? No kiss? No manhandling? No epic duel for the fair maiden’s heart?"

"She is not some _trophy_ ," he snapped. "I will not fight you for her. I have no claim on her."

"Indeed? Then I seem to find this unnecessary. After all, why should you care if she and I..." He moved his hands in lines as if tracing the shape of a woman. " _Reacquaint_ ourselves with each other?"

The markings on the elf seemed to start glowing softly again, but he said nothing. 

"After all, she is a beautiful woman, no? I can still remember the feel of her shaking, inexperienced hands." He sighed wistfully. "Sweet though she was, I imagine she would be much more confident this time around."

_"Enough,"_ Fenris barked, whirling on him. "You will not stroll back into her life just to walk out on her again. She has been through enough."

"Ah, you consider yourself her protector then?" Zevran asked, hands behind his back as he started to circle the other elf. "Even though you, yourself, have caused the exact pain you pretend to be protecting her from?"

Zevran saw the tightening of the man's fists at his sides and the way the roots of his hair now looked to be giving off light. What a fascinating mystery he was.

"I am her friend," he ground out through his teeth. "I do not wish to see her suffer any more unnecessary pain."

Zevran laughed and put a hand on his chest as he continued to circle him. "You flatter me, of course."

"What?” he asked, crossing his arms. “And how do you figure?"

"The simple fact that you went through all this effort is implication enough of your opinion. Waiting for me outside her home, the stalking me in the night — most romantic — the implied threat of bodily harm in what I imagine was your best growl; it is a pretty picture, no? It tells me that you think I would be successful if I tried to seduce the songbird. I am, of course, honored by your faith in my abilities, for why would you warn me off unless you knew she would be putty in my hands?" Zevran closed the distance between them and smiled up at him. "Indeed, a better question would be ‘how do you know that I have not already succeeded?’" 

Again the sound that seemed mostly animal leaked through Fenris' teeth. "Because I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes," he sneered, closing the last bit of distance between them until they were almost nose to nose. "And unless you'd like to test that luck of yours, I suggest you keep it that way."

Fenris was taller than him, Zevran noted with a bit of smug satisfaction. The man cut a rather intimidating figure when standing his full height like he was, shoulders back, skin aglow with his magical tattoos. If Zevran had been anyone else, he might have been shaking in his expensive, hand-tailored, Antivan boots.

"I will make you a deal, my prickly friend," Zevran said, testing the sharpness of his shoulder spikes with one of his fingers. "We will duel, you and I, and you will attempt to land a single hit. If you succeed, I will bow out of our little testosterone-induced contest we have here. Ne'er to darken the doorway of your heart’s desire again."

The other man was silent for a while, his green eyes searching Zevran's face for the trap he clearly knew was there.

"One hit?" he asked finally.

“Just one.”

“And if I fail?”

Zevran smiled his slow, dangerous smile that he knew had the power to cause lovers to swoon and enemies to second guess themselves. "Why, then I will have my wicked way with her, of course. And if memory serves, I will thoroughly enjoy making her mewl like a kitten in my arms."

"You son of a _bitch_ ," Fenris growled, throwing a wild punch that Zevran easily ducked. He was nice and angry now, letting his emotions rule his fists and making him sloppy and uncoordinated. It was a state that he figured the other elf was not used to being in, if Anara’s description of him had been accurate.

"That's it!" Zevran cheered, deflecting another punch with his forearm and then ducking past another. " _Ha-ha!_ Quite invigorating, isn't it?"

Zevran danced around him, keeping his hands behind his back as he moved the other man in circles like they were dancing. The warrior was getting frustrated, but he was no match, of course. Zevran was miles faster than him, and not emotionally compromised to boot. With his hands still behind his back, he ducked, spun, and tripped the elf with his foot, making him stumbled to keep himself upright.

"Come on, my friend, surely you can do better than this."

"I am _not_ your friend," he barked, whirling on him again.

"Say it isn't so," Zevran crooned, hand on his heart.

Fenris rushed him and Zevran punched his toes into the ground, somersaulting over the other man's head and letting him crash into the crates behind him. Every miss just made Fenris angrier, it seemed. His tattoos were now glowing like beacons, a hot white that seemed beyond his control. He roared and came at him with a series of furious punches that Zevran easily deflected. He spun out of the way as Fenris threw both fists down, shattering the ceramic pot that he'd been standing in front of. When he whirled around to charge again, Zevran ducked another wild fist and swept the man's legs out from under him with his foot, sending him careening down into the pavement face first. He caught himself on his hands, but before he could get back to his feet Zevran jumped onto his back, perching on the balls of his feet on his shoulder blades.

"Tsk, tsk, letting your emotions rule your actions. You are breaking the first rule of dueling!"

"Get off of me!"

"Tell me, does she still look as good as I remember while on her back? It has been many years."

The elf pushed up on his hands, lifting not only his own weight, but Zevran's as well. It was obviously not speed that was the man's strong suit, but rather an astonishing physical strength that he hadn't expected. Thinking back on the size of the sword the man carried, Zevran realized he shouldn't have been surprised. It was a good thing Fenris seemed unable to hit him, because he suspected it would only take one blow.

Zevran jumped from Fenris' back, and the other man spun and threw his fist in the same movement, more to clear Zevran out of the way than to actually hit him. He dodged, of course, and when Fenris moved to get back up, Zevran grabbed his ankle and yanked it, making him fall onto the flat of his back. As he started to sit up again, Zevran landed on his sternum this time, thoroughly knocking the wind out of his opponent.

"Come now, surely there is no need for this."

" _Of course_ there is no need for it," Fenris growled through his panting. "Anara can make her own decisions she does not need me fighting battles for her."

That caused Zevran to pause a bit. "Then why do this at all?"

“I don’t _know_ ,” he moaned, moving the heels of his hands to cover his eyes. "It seemed as good an excuse as any to punch you."

Zevran laughed heartily and shook his head. "I like you, glowing, angry thing that you are. Will it make you less inclined to use your fists if I told you that I have no interest in seducing your lady love?"

Fenris moved his hands and narrowed his eyes up at him. "You're lying."

"Only a little," he admitted. "I would have to be dead in order to not find a woman such as she attractive, but our time is over. Long over.” He fluidly stepped off of Fenris’ chest to crouch down beside him. “Besides, even if I were to try and seduce her, I would be wildly unsuccessful. She does not want me, and we both know better than to try and get the likes of her to do something she does not wish to do.”

The other man sighed through his nose and sat up, leaning back on one hand and rubbing his chest with the other. “You were just toying with me.”

“Yes. Obviously. I do that.” Zevran tilted his head to the side. “It is curious, isn’t it? How irrational she can make you?”

Fenris sighed and put his arms over his knees, brushing his white hair back over his head as his markings started to fade. “I am like a jealous child,” he grumbled. “It was not my place to warn you off as I did, nor to accept a challenge on her behalf. I have no right to do either, and I know it. This anger is completely unreasonable. I am not thinking clearly.”

“Or rather, that you are _clearly_ not thinking,” Zevran said in what he hoped was a friendly tone. “But that is what it does to us, no?”

“What _what_ does?”

“Love, of course.”

With no small amount of curiosity, Zevran took in the way the other elf’s ears flattened anxiously and the way the muscles of his jaw worked. He looked rather like a wounded animal, embarrassed and nursing shattered pride.

He _did_ love her, even if he did not understand it.

“Come,” Zevran said, holding out a hand. “I will follow you home. You and I have much to talk about.”

Fenris looked at the hand then back at Zevran’s face. “Like what?”

“Like how we are going to fix this mess in which you find yourself.”

“And why should I listen to you?”

“Because who else knows what _I_ know?”

The elf sighed through his nose and, resigned, put his hand in Zevran’s and allowed him to help him stand up. “I live just on the other side of the square,” he mumbled to himself.

“Ah, and do you have drink there?”

“I have a few bottles of wine left.”

“Excellent! We will—”

Zevran hadn’t realized the implications of the fact that Fenris still had his hand firmly clasped in his iron grip. So even though he managed to see the blow coming, there was little he could do about it since the other elf held him immobile. Zevran braced for the impact.

But the blow never came.

When Zevran opened his eye, the man’s spiky fist was just in front of his face. He exhaled a relieved breath.

“Cannot take a cheap shot?” Zevran asked.

“I am still not convinced that you do not deserve it,” he said, though he released Zevran’s hand and crossed his arms over his chest.

Zevran laughed heartily and clapped him on the back as they started walking. “You would not have to look far to find any number of people who agree with you.”


	44. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you so much to everyone who commented and gave me feed back over the last chapters. It really means the world to me and if you're surprised that I got another chapter up so fast, know that you're the reason. <3**
> 
> **I know this chapter is short, but hopefully still worth the read. Can't wait to hear what you think!**

“Intriguing,” the man said, holding Fenris’ hand in both of his, palm up and looking at the light coming off the markings on his palm and fingers. “And you can control them?”

“Most of the time, yes,” Fenris admitted. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he watched the other elf marveling down at his palm. “Though they tend to light up on their own in moments of extreme…”

“Jealousy?”

“ _Emotion_ ,” Fenris corrected, pulling his hand away now. He wanted very badly to hate Zevran Aranai. He was sitting in the chair Anara always sat in, crouching on the balls of his feet the same way she always did. Fenris figured she learned it from him.

He hated that.

“How extremely fascinating. Lyrium as tattoos. Just when I thought I have seen everything.”

Zevran reached onto the floor for the bottle of wine he’d been given and took a long drink. Both of their bottles were already about half empty, but Fenris was keeping a close eye on the other man. He did not trust this bonding effort for a moment.

“So,” Fenris said, sinking back in his chair and taking a drink from his own bottle, “dare I ask how you and Anara met?”

“Oh, you know, the same old story,” Zevran said with a wave of his hand. “Some very powerful people wanted her dead. I was working for the Crows and they specialize in that sort of thing.”

“You were contracted to kill her?”

“More or less.”

“And you went from assassin to mentor _how_ , exactly?”

The elf shrugged carelessly. “What can I say? I was impressed. I saw great potential in her.”

“So, what? You just decided to teach her to be faster?”

That made the other elf laugh. “I cannot take credit for her speed. That part of her is innate. She was born with it, like her unusual eyes and the sound of her voice. No, speed was not what she learned from me. What I taught Anara Hawke was _subtlety_.”

Fenris leaned his elbows on his knees, bottle hanging from one hand as he listened. He would never admit to how invested he was in hearing the tale, but he could feel the anticipation shuffling restlessly through his mind.

“I watched her for two days,” the elf said. “She was pilfering things here and there, sneaking into expensive homes and the like. In truth, I was not all that impressed at first. She was young and sloppy and making enemies of very powerful people. She wasn’t even wearing a mask or concealing her identity, the silly girl. The only thing I could not figure out was how the authorities had not caught her yet. It seemed simple enough to me.”

“What eventually convinced you to make contact with her?” Fenris asked, not quite realizing how he was hanging on every word.

“I watched her lift a very expensive pocketwatch from a noble in Denerim,” Zevran said with a fond smile. He was looking down at the wine bottle in his hand, but it was obvious that he was seeing the memory and not reading the label. “It was a messy little job; she made sure the man ran into her and knocked her over, and when he helped her back to her feet, she stole the watch from his breast pocket.”

“What happened?”

“She walked away as if nothing had happened, of course. But by then, the thief had become notorious. The man naturally patted down his pockets and found the timepiece missing.” Zevran laughed and shook his head. “And then, like I do, I fell in love a little.”

Fenris sighed and looked down at the bottle in his own hand, knowing exactly what came next. “You saw her run,” he said softly.

“Somewhere between the words ‘stop’ and ‘thief’, Anara had disappeared and left only a trail of dust in her wake.” Zevran made a sound like a crossbow firing and pointed a finger to demonstrate how quick she’d been. “I barely saw her move. I had never seen anything like it.”

Fenris sighed and muttered a quiet, “I know the feeling,” before taking another long drink from his wine. “I remember being surprised the ground didn’t burst aflame under her feet.” He laughed and started to peel the label off his bottle. “It’s extraordinary.”

There was a short silence and Fenris could feel the other elf staring at him, perched in Anara’s chair.

“You love her, you know,” he said in a matter-of-fact kind of way.

Fenris swallowed and felt his ears flatten and the ache roiling through his chest. “Yes,” he said softly, without raising his eyes. “Yes, I know.”

“Then what is the problem?” Zevran asked. “Why have you not taken her in your arms and told her so?”

“She does not want me any longer.”

“Well, now, that is simply not true and I think you know that.”

Fenris tightened his jaw and sat back in his chair. He didn’t want to admit that he knew she still wanted him because it didn’t really matter. He didn’t want to think about how he still caught her stealing glances at him or how he would still notice her staring at his mouth as he spoke. He had brushed them all aside. It was easier that way.

“Even if she does,” he grumbled. “I do not deserve her.”

There was a pause. “I knew you were a bit… shall we say, emotionally constipated? But she did not mention that you were stupid.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. No wonder you are here drinking your problems away instead of tangled in a songbird’s sheets.” He made a sour face as he took another drink of wine. “Your self-loathing is both predictable and boring. ‘ _Deserve her_ ’,” he mocked. “What does that even mean?”

“It means… it means—“

“Be quiet. I do not care.”

“But—“

“Hush. Let me tell you a little something about what people ‘deserve’.” He took another drink of wine and made another face. “This really is terrible wine, by the way. It tastes of dirt and feet. Where did you say it was from?”

“Tevinter.”

“ _Ugh._ Heathens. With their foot-wine and their… indoor plumbing.” He took another drink anyway, made the face again, and put the bottle down. “Listen, my angry, glowing friend, what we deserve in this world is irrelevant.”

“How do you figure?”

“People get things they do not deserve every day,” he said with a laugh. “Elven peasants, Fereldan nobles, even devastatingly handsome and talented assassins.”

“Even you?”

“ _Especially_ , me. If everyone got what they ‘deserved’ I would be lying dead at the bottom of Lake Calenhad with the rest of the men under my command when we attacked the Grey Wardens. I am not dead because Derrick gave me a chance I did not deserve. Because of that chance, I am living a life I do not deserve, with friends I do not deserve. I am sitting with an elf who has tattoos he did not deserve, in his mansion he probably does not deserve, talking about a woman he may or may not deserve, and drinking a wine that not even my worst enemies deserve.” Zevran spread his hands and shrugged. “Do you see how pointless it all is?”

Fenris swallowed and watched Zevran closely, not sure if he was understanding. “You are suggesting that even though she deserves better, I should continue to pursue her?”

Zevran tilted his head to the side. “Do you wish for her to be happy?”

“Of course,” Fenris responded without a second thought.

“Do you think she _deserves_ to be happy?”

“More than anyone.”

“Then tell me, if she deserves to be happy, and you would _make_ her happy, how can you possibly think that you do not deserve her?”

Fenris didn’t know what to say to that. He shook his head uncomprehending for a few brief moments as he tried to collect his thoughts. “You…” he swallowed and shifted in his chair. “You think I can do that? Make her happy, I mean?”

“I think you may be the only one who can,” Zevran said softly. “I think she is waiting for you to take a chance because she is too afraid — has lost too much trust in her emotions — to take the chance herself.”

Fenris swallowed down the irritating hope he felt filling all the empty parts of him, furrowing his brow and staring down at his empty wine bottle. Could he possibly believe this? That he was the answer for her? That he was the only one that could give her everything she deserved? He still didn’t even quite know how to wrap his mind around the fact that he loved her as he did. It made sense, the words felt _right_ in his mind, but… how could he trust something so volatile? So powerful and confusing?

He sighed and looked up at Zevran sitting in Anara’s signature crouch. He wanted so badly to hate him.

“What do I do?” he asked finally.

Zevran smiled a slow, mysterious smile and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Do not fret, my spikey friend. I will help you.”

Fenris felt something an awful lot like dread coiling in his stomach. This did not end well for him, he decided.

* * *

 

When no one answered his knock on the front door, Derrick Cousland let himself into the large run-down mansion quietly. He peeked into the large parlor, covered with dusty books and cobwebs by the look of it. He wasn’t surprised to hear Zevran’s familiar voice coming from up the stairs, it was the other voice he was surprised to realize was also familiar.

“Your eyes are the sunset that sets my soul aflame?!” Fenris turned to Zevran waving the paper. “What the devil goes on in your head?”

“It is a gift.” Zevran said with a sigh.

“I thought you might provide helpful insight, not turn me into a laughingstock.”

“Women love poetry! She may be all hard shell on the outside, but she is a sucker for a grand romantic gesture. Trust me.”

Derrick crossed his arms and leaned in the doorway, smirking when neither elf acknowledged his presence. “Now _this_ looks interesting.”

Both men turned to look at him and had completely opposing reactions. Zevran’s face lit up the way it always did when he looked at him, a secretive light that sparkled in his amber colored eyes, and the slight, seductive arch of one of his eyebrows. He never dared to let anyone see just how much he cared, but Derrick had been dealing with it long enough to know how to look for it.

Fenris, however, looked as if he were gazing at a rather large, dangerous — albeit annoying — winged beast.

“ _You!?”_ Fenris snarled.

“Ah, my favorite handsome shield of meat has arrived!” Zevran said, exuding masculine grace as he came out of his crouch in the chair and stood before him.

“I was told you might be here,” Derrick said, unable to not smile as he ran his eyes over the elf.

“Oh? By whom?”

“Isabela.”

“Ah! I am sorry I missed your reunion,” Zevran said with a little smile. “The three of us have many good memories together.”

“She has certainly gotten…” Derrick moved his hands as if tracing the lines of a very voluptuous woman, “…tan.”

Zevran tossed his head back and laughed as he closed the distance between them. Derrick didn’t move from his casual lean against the door frame but watched him with rapt attention.

“I did not expect you until tomorrow,” Zevran said finally in those silky tones of his.

“Patience has never been a virtue of mine,” Derrick said softly. He tipped up Zevran’s chin with the knuckle of his index finger and gave him a sweet, chaste kiss against his lips. “Kept busy, have you?”

“Always,” Zevran crooned back at him. He pulled away and turned to a very confused looking Fenris. “I believe you’ve already met my new friend.”

“Of course! Been a while, Fenris,” Derrick said, moving to take the other man’s forearm in his hand in a friendly shake.

“Please tell me I don’t get as enthusiastic a greeting as he did,” Fenris said, motioning his head at Zevran.

Derrick arched a playful eyebrow. “Only if you want one.”

“No, thank you,” he grumbled.

“As you wish,” Derrick said with a sigh before turning to look at both men. “What’s all this talk of poetry?”

“He thinks this atrocious nonsense will help me with Anara,” Fenris grumbled, flicking the paper onto the nearby table.

Derrick didn’t know which point to get to first. “Wait… _wait,”_ he said, feeling a smile tug at his lips as he pointed at Zevran. “ _You_ are playing matchmaker?”

Zevran stiffened. “Do not say it.”

“You _hypocrite!”_

“Ugh. I knew this was coming.”

“Oh, this is rich.” He turned to Fenris. “I told you back in that port that he was always giving me guff over this very thing!”

“The assassin is the lover you mentioned?” Fenris asked with an arched eyebrow.

“He is,” Derrick replied. “Surprised?”

“You spoke of me to him?” Zevran asked, looking a bit too smug for Derrick’s liking. “Good to know.”

“Only to explain how extremely troublesome you are,” Derrick added.

“I thought you said your lover was a woman,” Fenris interjected.

“Actually, I didn’t,” Derrick corrected. “You _assumed_ my lover was a woman. I didn’t say one way or the other.”

“Huh.”

“The point is he’s always on my case about being unable to mind my own business.”

“If memory serves,” Fenris said softly, “you _are_ unable to mind your own business.”

“Irrelevant,” he said, waving a hand as he turned back to Zevran. “I will get you for this, darling.”

“Promise?” Zevran asked, arching a wicked eyebrow.

Damn it. Almost a decade later and it still managed to turn his knees to butter.

“ _Anyway,”_ Derrick said, changing the subject before he could be diverted. “Do not tell me that this is the same woman you were pining for those months ago.”

Fenris didn’t say anything, just exhaled a frustrated breath and threw himself into a chair.

Derrick grabbed a half empty wine bottle off the table and dragged the wooden chair toward where the two elves were sitting.

“Perhaps it would be best if you began from the beginning,” he said gently.

Fenris, looked out the window, fist against his lips as he seemed to contemplate his options. Finally he sighed and shook his head. “I don’t see what I have to lose at this point.”

“That’s the spirit,” Derrick said, swatting his leg as he took a drink of the wine. He chewed on it for a while before smacking his lips together a few times. “Maker, this wine tastes like feet.”

Zevran smiled and tilted his head to the side. “I really do adore you, did you know that?”

Fenris groaned and put his face in his hands.

* * *

 

Anara paced back and forth with the letter in her hands. She read the address over and over again as she had been doing for a week now. Could she do this? Once she sent the letter off, the plan would be in motion and there would be no turning back. No matter what happened. Writing to Danarius was a huge risk, a risk that Fenris would likely look upon as a betrayal. He would not be happy with her, most assuredly, but what would that matter if he was free? If Fenris could have his freedom once and for all, wouldn’t that be worth it?

She had gone over the plan in her mind over and over and over again. She usually consulted Varric for things like this, to make sure there were no dangerous holes in her plan, but she knew damn well that Varric would not like the plan, nor would he be silent about it. It went doubly for Aveline.

No, if she was going to do this, she had to do it on her own. If Fenris caught wind of it, he would ruin everything.

She could do this. She could free him while also freeing herself. It would work. It was a good plan. A solid plan. No one would like it, but it would work. The ends would justify the means. She knew they would.

With a trembling hand, Hawke handed the letter to the boy she had sent for, and before she could even try to retract it from him, he had turned and bolted off on his rounds to collect other letters.

Hawke felt something in her stomach clench and harden like a stone. A cold foreboding spread through her and she prayed to anyone who would listen that she had made the right choice.

If Fenris hated her for it, so be it. He would be safe and, more importantly, he would be free.

And so would she. One way or another.

 


	45. The Warden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN: I didn't get to respond to comments last week, been setting up for my BDAY on Wednesday so I'm sorry. I will try to respond to all of them this week! I'm loving your feedback guys. I really genuinely enjoy hearing from all of you so thank you so much for taking the time it means everything to me.**
> 
> **Only a few chapters left now. Are you ready?**

“This is foolish.”

“It’s not foolish! It’s romantic.”

“I don’t know who is more of a fool, you two for thinking of this, or me for letting you convince me to do it.”

It was two nights after his little sparring match with Zevran Aranai and now he was standing under Anara’s balcony wearing the black, formal tunic that Aveline had bought him to attend her wedding. He paced restlessly, hands behind his back as he kicked himself for letting the other two convince him to do this.

Zevran Aranai and Derrick Cousland were trouble. They were too friendly, too charismatic, too… _everything._ One minute he had been relating the facts of his perilous relationship with Anara as best he could, the next he was agreeing to meet them after they formulated a “plan.” He didn’t know how they had gotten him to go along with it up until now. He looked like an idiot. He would be lucky if she didn’t laugh him out of Kirkwall.

“Fenris, relax,” Derrick said, in that deceptively calming tone. “She will be touched by the gesture alone.”

“Is there a reason I do not just… go through the front door? All this nonsense of balconies and stones is—“

“You cannot simply walk into her house,” Zevran assured him. “Where is the romance in that?”

“Where is the romance in _this?”_ Fenris asked, motioning to the small stones in his hand that they had given him. “I am more likely to break her window than actually…. Whatever it was you said.”

“Woo?” Derrick helped.

“Seduce?” Zevran added.

“Court?”

“Tempt?”

“Charm?”

“Beguile?”

“Ooh, I like that one.”

“I know you do.”

“ _Enough!”_ Fenris snapped in a harsh whisper. “I am not doing this. You two thinking this is a good idea is evidence enough that it isn’t.”

“Oh, no,” Zevran said, catching Fenris by his arm before he could walk away. “You are not going to run away now.”

“You are no coward, Fenris,” Derrick jumped in. “Trust us.”

“Why should I?” he asked.

“Because if you do,” Derrick continued, “I give you my word as a gentleman that if it doesn’t work, we will never attempt to give you another word of advice on the subject. Ever.”

“ _We?”_ Zevran asked.

Fenris and Derrick both glared at him.

Zevran sighed. “Very well. We will surrender forthwith. Satisfied?”

Fenris ran his free hand down his face. “I must be losing my mind.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hawke had kept herself shut away from the world since sending that letter. Her stomach was still in knots. What had she been thinking, writing to Danarius? He was unlikely to take her offer, and maybe all she would do is put Fenris in more danger. It had seemed like a good plan at the time, but it only worked if Danarius accepted her terms. If he didn’t, he would be here, he would be close, and he would know where Fenris was.

Maker, what if he killed her? What if Danarius didn’t even listen to her offer? What if he just killed her in cold blood and used the opportunity to catch Fenris unawares? If he managed to capture Fenris, he would be a slave again, and it would be all Hawke’s fault.

The very idea made her stomach turn, not for the first time that day. She thought about stopping the ship with the post on it, but knew it was probably already too late. She could tell Fenris, bare all in hopes that he would forgive her and they could make a plan to defeat him together, but that just put Fenris directly in Danarius’ path. What if she wasn’t strong enough? What if they couldn’t take him down and Fenris paid the price for it?

She needed a drink.

She was putting on her boots when she heard something skitter across the stone of her balcony. It sounded like something had rolled off her roof. Something dropped by a bird, maybe? She finished lacing her boots and heard something tap against the wood on her door. There was one final tap against the glass before she swung the doors open to see her empty balcony. Naturally she moved forward to peer over the railing, and saw Fenris was standing below her, poised for another throw.

Panic unlike she’d ever known it leapt into her throat. Did he know? Had he somehow figured out what she’d done? Was he coming to tell her off? To kill her for her betrayal? She told herself she was being ridiculous and bit down her insecurities. She noticed Fenris lower his arm and his ears flatten back a little. The implication that he was nervous put her at ease somewhat.

“Oh, uh… good evening,” he called up to her. “I erm… how are you?”

Anara swallowed and tried not to let on that anything was wrong. “I’m fine, Fenris,” she said, leaning into her hands on the railing. “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Then is there a reason you’re throwing…” she glanced down at the floor of her balcony to locate the objects. “What is that, a rock?”

He glanced down at the remaining rock still in his hand and quickly tossed it aside. “Um, yes,” he said, clearing his throat and glancing off to the side at something she couldn’t see. “I mean ‘yes’ there is a reason, not ‘yes’ it is a rock.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying it’s _not_ a rock?”

“I’m saying the rock is irrelevant,” he growled, clearly growing frustrated with his plan. She couldn’t help but be amused by how flustered he was getting. She could hear him clear his throat as he straightened his shoulders. “I came to play for you.”

“Play for me?”

“Yes,” he said softly, taking a few steps out of sight under the balcony before going back to where she could see him. He now held his violin and bow in one hand. “Is… is this alright?”

She laughed softly from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Here she had just sent off a letter that may or may not get them both killed, now he was attempting to serenade her for some reason.

“You know I always love to listen to you play,” she said, going down onto her elbows. “Though you hardly have to do it out in the cold like this.”

He glanced off to the side again before looking back at her. “I’d… rather stay here,” he said, but it sounded like a question.

“Might I ask what brought this on?”

His telling, too honest gaze fell to the side again, and she realized there could only be one person underneath the balcony.

“Fenris, did Zevran put you up to this?”

Fenris motioned a hand up at her as if to say ‘see?’

She sighed. “You can come out now.”

Out Zevran strode with his trademark grin. “Ah, but if it isn’t the songbird! What a coincidence. I was just looking for you.”

Anara rolled her eyes. “I should have known.”

“Fenris and I are going down to the Hanged Man. You should join us!”

“You always _were_ quick to find a plan B.”

“I am good at thinking on my feet, as it were.”

“And _off_ your feet,” someone said from under the balcony.

“Oh, _especially_ off my feet.”

She shook her head and stepped back. “I was actually about to go down to the Hanged Man myself,” she said. “I’ll be right down.”

Unable to stop the odd fluttering in her chest, completely forgetting about the reason she’d wanted to go to the Hanged Man in the first place, Hawke pulled on her vest and scurried down the stairs, telling Bodhan she would be back in a few hours as she went. When she stepped out the front door, the three men were all waiting for her, only two of them were all smiles.

“So this is her, hmm?” Derrick said, holding out a hand. “I have heard very much about you, my lady.”

“Have you, indeed?” she asked, putting her hand in his.

He kissed her knuckles sweetly. “Only very, very good things,” he said with a smile, motioning his head to the other two. “From both of them.”

Zevran smiled. Fenris found something interesting to study on the bow of his violin.

“I suppose I should be honored. When the Hero of Ferelden has heard of you, that’s certainly an accomplishment.”

“Ah, so you know who I am!”

“We’ve met before, my lord.”

He arched an eyebrow. “We have?”

“During the Qunari uprising,” she explained. “When you and Fenris reunited.”

He tilted his head to the side, staring at her as he ran the memory over in his mind. Then he snapped his fingers. “You must have been the one with the hood and mask, then.”

“Indeed I was.”

He turned to Fenris. “Well, I am pleased at least that you _did_ end up going straight to your lady love, then.”

Fenris rolled his eyes but Anara couldn’t stop her smile. They all turned to head toward the Hanged Man, Derrick and Zevran led the way, yammering in a way that was probably commonplace. Anara walked beside Fenris, who was carrying his bow and violin in one hand, making a great effort not to look at her. She could easily embarrass him further for this little fiasco, but she decided to take pity on him because in reality it had been rather adorable. He had tried. He had taken a step out of his comfort zone and taken advice from the likes of Zevran in order to try and please her. He had tried. Because he cared.

She linked her arm into his free one and leaned her head on his shoulder, listening to the other two men chat as they walked together. Neither of them said anything, but they leaned into one another.

 

* * *

 

 

“Amazing isn’t it?” Derrick asked as he turned a chair backwards and straddled it next to Hawke. “He can convince just about anyone to do just about anything.”

Anara laughed and crossed her ankle over her knee as she watched Zevran convince Fenris to play the violin so that they could all dance. Fenris put in a valiant effort to look annoyed, but once everyone started dancing, the corner of his lips had kicked up in a small smile.

“He has always been very charming,” Anara allowed, taking a drink of her mead.

Derrick folded his arms over the back of his chair and rested his chin on top of them. “And people wonder why I didn’t kill him when we met. Look at him. How do you take something that beautiful out of the world?”

She turned to study his starry-eyed expression and tilted her head to the side. “You really love him, don’t you?”

“So I do,” he said with a wistful smile.

“So you and he… are serious, then?”

“As serious as one can be with a person like him,” Derrick said with a shrug. “I love him and, in his own way, he loves me.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she said with a sigh, turning back to watch Zevran dancing with Isabela. “I suppose I’ve only ever expected to be in a monogamous relationship.”

“So did I,” Derrick admitted, “but you do not fall in love with a man like Zevran and expect him to change. Helping people grow is all well and good, but I am no mage, and I do not expect to be able to bottle a bolt of lightning. When you love someone, it’s supposed to change _you._ You’re not supposed to love someone hoping you can change _them._ ”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, her eyes falling now to Fenris as he played his violin. “You must find me petty then, to expect a man to be faithful.”

Derrick turned to look at her with an eyebrow raised. “Of course not,” he said softly. “No one should ever be unfaithful to their lovers.”

“But… you and Zevran…”

“Zevran is not unfaithful,” he explained. “What is and is not cheating is defined by the people involved and no one else. What is faithful to him and I is not necessarily the same as what will count as faithful to you. People get into trouble when they don’t talk about it, when they get into a relationship expecting the other person to have the same definition of the word as they do.”

She supposed he had a point. Zevran had never told her they were in an exclusive relationship all those years ago. She’d just assumed, and ended up heartbroken because of it. Had she managed to actually talk it out with him beforehand, the entire mess might have been avoided.

“So then… you and he both have the same definition?”

“Not originally,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but we do now. Like I said, I love him just the way he is. I would never try to change him. We have a very satisfactory agreement. My work with the Warden’s takes me all over the world and we cannot be together constantly. I have no issue with him satisfying his needs elsewhere, or even inviting others to join us on occasion, as was the case with our favorite pirate queen over there.”

“That explains the um… familiarity.”

“Yes, they certainly get around,” he teased. “We do not lie to each other, however. So long as he is always honest with me and his emotions stay anchored with me, I am a very happy… very _lucky_ man.”

“You certainly have unconventional views.”

He shrugged. “You adapt. You grow. It may not work for everyone, but it works for us, and we’re happy.”

They were both silent for a while, staring at the group of their friends.

“I know what it’s like, you know,” he said softly. “To lose everything.”

She turned to look at him again. “I’m sorry?”

“Fenris told me last night,” he admitted, meeting her eyes. “About your family.”

Anara stiffened and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Did he, now?”

“He is very worried for you, lady Hawke.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re really not,” he said. “It eats you up inside. It’s like a… like a big hole inside you that no amount of drink or violence or sex can fill up. My whole family was murdered. I watched most of them die. It’s empty and hollow and it weighs down your steps.”

She was quiet for a long time. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For your loss, I mean.”

“The sentiment is mutual.”

Anara looked down into her mead and fingered the rim of her mug. “How do you move on?” she asked softly. “How do you just keep going, knowing that you let down everyone you love? How do you just… live with that?”

“One day at a time,” he said, sitting up and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You are not as alone as you think you are. You have a family here. People who look up to you, who respect you, _count_ on you to keep them safe. That’s not nothing, Hawke. That’s everything.”

She scanned her eyes over her companions. Merrill was blushing furiously as she danced with Zevran, and he spun her around to make her shriek with laughter. Isabela was dancing with Anders, who had been convinced to stop sulking and actually looked to be enjoying himself. Aveline was dancing with her husband, a little awkwardly, but like nothing else in the world mattered. Varric was surrounded by people at his table, animating his hands as he told some story or another.

And then there was Fenris. He was smiling one of those rare smiles that showed his teeth, his violin tucked up under his chin as he played a jaunty tune for everyone to dance to. She watched his agile, long-fingered hands manipulating the strings, temporarily mesmerized by the push and pull of the bow. He was so graceful when he played. His hands were rough and calloused from so many years of battle, but watching him play the violin, one would think he had been raised as a gentleman. There was an elegance in his hands that belied the strength in them.

She had only known one other instance his hands had been so gentle.

“You know,” she said to Derrick, smiling finally as she kept her eyes on Fenris. “You are actually very wise.”

“I keep trying to tell people that.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I haven’t heard you play for a long time,” Anara said as she walked back toward Hightown with Fenris. “I forget just how good you are sometimes.”

“I enjoy playing for you,” he admitted softly, endlessly pleased that they were walking arm in arm again. “I… apologize for letting them talk me into throwing rocks at your window.”

“It was certainly romantic,” she said with a laugh. “Well, except for your audience hiding underneath.”

He sighed and focused on the horizon as they walked. “It seemed as good an idea as any. I have been trying to make you smile for months now. That other elf seemed to be able to do it so easily. I thought maybe his advice would be sound.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. “I know you’ve been worrying over me.”

“We all have been,” he admitted. “It… pains me when you are not happy, Anara. I certainly cannot blame you for your grief; I have no notion of what that kind of loss feels like. What I do know is that when you are sad, it’s like… it’s like the world is sad with you. I hate it.”

Without taking her head off his shoulder, he felt her turning her head to look up at him. He swallowed at met her eyes as they walked.

“I am sorry,” he said finally. “There was a time when I could chase the shadows from your eyes. Now I seem to only give you more.”

That made her lift her head and stop walking, forcing him to a halt as well. Her eyebrows upturned and she moved one of her hands to his chest. “Don’t say things like that,” she said softly. “None of this is your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, searching her eyes. “If I had not run from you, you might have come to me with your troubles. You might have let me comfort you somehow or allowed me to share some of your burden. I do not know many things, Anara, but I know that there is nothing I would not do for you, and had I not played the coward, maybe you would not have closed yourself off to me.”

“Fenris…”

“You said that you did not blame me for running,” he continued, “but I blame myself. _Someone_ should blame me, besides Varric, that is. For all my weaknesses, I had never considered myself a coward until I was sitting in that port wishing I was here. Wishing I was _home_. With you.”

He watched the motion of her throat as she swallowed and stared up into his face. He wondered what she was thinking. He was still lamentably terrible at that sort of thing.

“Why did you leave?” she asked, finally, the question that had hung between them for what felt like an eternity now. “I just want to understand.”

Fenris swallowed audibly and felt his ears flatten. Shaking his head, he looked down at her hand against his chest.

“To protect you,” he said softly.

“From what?”

“From _me.”_

Her confusion read plainly on her face and he sighed, forcing his fingers back through his hair.

“I walked out of your room that night… telling myself that if I could only find Danarius, if I could put him down like the dog he is, then I could come back. Without him hounding my steps, I could… I could stop looking over my shoulder down every alley and stop seeing the corpses of those I turned on every night.”

“And you couldn’t do that here? You had to leave to do it?”

Fenris met her gaze, covering her hand over his heart with his own. “I did not care for the Fog Warriors as I do you,” he admitted, hearing the shame and weakness in his own voice. It made the anger well up again, as it always did. “I respected them, though. I admired them. Thought of them as friends, but Danarius got me to turn on them all the same. He will always hold that power over me, Anara. I cannot confront him with you. I cannot take that chance.”

He watched the realization dawn in her eyes and the soft shake of her head.

“And I don’t get a say?” she began.

“What would you have said? You would have done what you _have always_ done.” He moved his free hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer and baring his teeth with his frustration. “For every inch I would have tried to push you away you would have held on tighter. You would have made me feel as though anything were possible and told me everything I wanted to hear. You would have taken me in your arms and told me that I’m not a monster. But you would have been _wrong_. The monster is inside me; it’s dark and it’s hateful and I can feel it even still. When Danarius finds me, he _will_ use the power he has over me and I cannot say with certainty that I would be able to resist. Then it is _you_ who will have paid the price for my weakness. It’s _your_ blood I’d have on my hands, Anara. I can’t take that chance. I _won’t_.”

She stared at him for a long time, and he wondered what it was that was going through her head. He wondered if she understood, he wondered if it wasn’t good enough. It certainly didn’t _feel_ good enough. It felt weak and pathetic compared to her own suffering.

It was like a small eternity that they just stood there, his heart laid bare, the vulnerability plain on his face. He couldn’t stand the uncertainty. Before he had a chance to say anything else, however, her hand slid up from his chest to behind his neck and she pulled him down into a kiss.

He only faltered for a moment, surprised by the response, but once the molten heat of her lips touched his, his hesitation evaporated. His hands flew to wrap around her and pull her into his chest, and he returned the kiss with all the devotion and desperation that he felt. For every second he had to watch the ghosts haunt her eyes, for every time fear squeezed his heart when she would dive into a battle as if it were her last, for every dream of her he’d had over the past year. He kissed her as if the kiss alone could say the words he was still too much of a coward to voice.

When they broke apart his markings were glowing and all he could hear was their breathing over the sound of his heart hammering in his eardrums. Her face was illuminated by the glow of his lyrium and she was staring up at him with an expression that, damn him, he could not read for the life of him. She searched his eyes for something and he prayed to anyone that would listen that whatever it was she was looking for, she found.

“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” she said, sliding her hands onto his chest.

“What?” he asked softly. The kiss had made him forget about what they’d been talking about and he had to concentrate to find the thread of the conversation.

“This… nightmare you see for us, Fenris,” she explained. “I’ll make sure it never comes to that.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, moving his hand to brush his knuckles over her cheek.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“I do. You must know that I do.”

She took both of his hands and raised them to her lips, not breaking eye contact as she kissed his glowing skin. He sucked in a breath, a profound pain shooting through his chest at the small measure of affection.

“Then trust me now,” she said, holding his hands against her chest. “Trust that I won’t let that happen.”

He let out a slow breath, feeling the light in his markings fade as he did it. He swallowed and let his forehead fall onto Anara’s, closing his eyes and reveling in their closeness. He didn’t know what she intended to do about it, but he did know that he didn’t believe in anything the way he believed in her.

“Alright,” he said softly, pulling away. “You have yet to lead me astray. I would be a fool to doubt you now.”

She smiled, but he recognized the sadness in her expression, recognized the shadows in her eyes, but he didn’t know how to breech the subject. Before he could figure out how, she started to pull away from him.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her hands lingering in his. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“I never stopped,” he said softly, looking down at their hands between them. “I trust nothing as I trust you, Anara.”

He couldn’t be sure, but it appeared as if the words hurt her somehow. Something about the way her expression dropped, the way the tension raised her eyebrows.

“Goodnight, Fenris,” she said softly, her hands slowly slipping out of his.

“Goodnight, Anara.” 


	46. The Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Life has been crazy lately and just been suffering a huge hit to the motivation lately. Don't know what's up but hopefully I can get this story done in the next few weeks. Sorry it's so late. Love you guys.**

Zevran and Derrick remained in Kirkwall only a few days after that. The Wardens called Derrick elsewhere, and Zevran followed him, claiming that the warrior was too incompetent to travel on his own. Anara, at least, saw through that. Zevran did, indeed, love the hero and she knew that where he went, the assassin would follow if he could.

She was happy for them. It couldn't be easy to make love work with the lives they lived, but they'd found a way to do it and had somehow managed to steal happiness, however fleeting, for themselves. She admired them for that.

It was weeks later when the letter from Danarius came. She'd almost forgotten about it, truthfully. She'd let herself believe that her original letter had never reached him, that destiny had taken a hand in letting the letter get lost at sea. But no. She had offered up the deal, and Danarius had taken it, or at least appeared to. The events were already in motion, and there was no stopping it now. She'd started this, and now it appeared she would have to finish it.

She reminded herself for maybe the thousandth time that if it worked, Fenris would be free and that was all that really mattered.

The letter from Fenris came the next evening, and she knew before even opening it why he had sent for her. The die was cast. She was committed now. No turning back.

When she arrived at Fenris' mansion he was pacing back and forth quickly. It almost looked frantic on him only because his movements were usually so calm and controlled. When he heard her enter the room he whirled around a breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're here," he said softly, going to the table. "Thank you. I didn't know who else to speak about this to."

She swallowed down the dread and forced her voice to stay calm.

"Is something the matter, Fenris? Your letter sounded cryptic."

"It's my sister," he said, going through all the papers on his desk and locating the one he was looking for. He thrust it out at her. "She's coming."

Hawke hoped she managed to look convincingly surprised. “Here? To Kirkwall?” she asked, taking the letter and scanning it with her eyes.

Just like Danarius had said, the letter was composed by Fenris’ sister. She figured that if Fenris hadn’t had any success in contacting Varania it was either because she didn’t exist or because Danarius was preventing it somehow. She was relieved to see that the sister actually did seem to exist. Maybe Fenris would forgive her if her betrayal got a piece of his family back. A former lover for a sister? That was a fair trade, wasn’t it?

“She’s going to be here in two days,” he said, even though she had just read as much. “I’ve secured her a room at the Hanged Man and I’m going to meet her there.”

“Fenris, that’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “Why do you look so worried?”

“Because it may well be a trap,” he snapped. “I am thinking of asking Aveline to investigate down at the docks on that day, just to ensure that it’s really her.”

“I suppose that would be wise,” Hawke said carefully, not wanting to give away her hand.

“Regardless, I want you there with me,” he said, coming around the table. “Please, Anara I need you there when I confront her. If it’s a trap, I will need your skill and if it’s not… if it’s not I still…”

Hawke swallowed, feeling like she’d gotten kicked in the stomach by a horse. Fenris asked her for so little. He asked so little of the _world._ He was never one to ask for assistance be it money or shelter. Yet here he was, asking for her support to meet his sister for the first time. It tugged on her heart like nothing else could have done. She hated to lie to him, but she seemed powerless to do anything else under his steady, vulnerable gaze.

“Of course,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t really sound as strained as she thought it did. “I would be happy to accompany to meet your sister, Fenris.”

“Thank you,” he said with an exhale. The relief she saw in him, his little smile and the relaxing of his shoulders, it nearly broke her, made her confess all. But she couldn’t. She was too close. “Varania should be arriving around noon. I was going to meet her there that evening.”

She smiled a thin, brittle smile and clenched her hands into fists. “I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

The two days waiting for Varania to arrive were like torture.

Fenris was surprised he hadn’t worn down the stone of the mansion from all his pacing. He went over every possible contingency. He walked The Hanged man more than once, further mastering the floor plan that he already had memorized. He counted the windows, the exits, the weaknesses. He walked the docks, he locked all the windows in the mansion, everything he could think of. Perhaps it was a little much. Perhaps his paranoia was finally driving him to madness.

A sister.

In many ways, he may have been hoping for a trap. If Danarius were to show up, he would know exactly what to do. He would know exactly what to say, he would spit in his face and sneer that he was no longer a slave. He would kill Danarius or he would die trying, it was as simple as that.

But, a sister? A blood relative? What did he do with that? He had no experience that told him how to proceed down that road. Would she recognize him? Would _he_ recognize _her?_ Would she even _want_ to be his family?

Family. The concept was so foreign to him. The only family he’d truly known was Anara. She was the closest he had, and he knew very well that it was not the same thing.

He threw himself into a chair and put his face in his hands. He was not ready for this. No matter the outcome he knew he was woefully unprepared.

When the sun rose on the third day, Fenris was already awake and pacing. Aveline came by that afternoon to tell him that a woman who matched Varania’s description had arrived and made her way to the Hanged Man, but there was no sign of anyone travelling with her, or even anyone else on any of the other ships that even remotely matched Danarius. He didn’t know if that was a comfort or even more unsettling than the other option would have been.

When Hawke hadn’t come to his home by five o’clock, Fenris made his way to hers. His anxiety heightened again when the dwarves told him that she’d been gone all day. She hadn’t told them to expect her return, nor had she told them where she was going. He caught Orana’s eye line, but she quickly looked away and darted into the kitchens. Something was wrong.

“Do not lose your grip,” he told himself as he clenched his hands into fists and made his way toward Lowtown. Perhaps she was already there, waiting for him. Perhaps she wanted to meet Varania and interrogate her to keep Fenris safe. The idea made him smile a little, unlikely though it was.

Varric was pacing in front of the Hanged Man when Fenris arrived and another twist squeezed his gut. Something was definitely wrong.

“ _There_ you are,” the dwarf said, turning to Fenris with wide hands. “Where have you been? She’s been waiting.”

“Hawke?”

“What? No, not Hawke, you moron. Your sister.”

Fenris swallowed hard. “Hawke… isn’t in there at all? Has she been by today?”

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Why?”

“She just… never mind. It’s not of import.” The idea that Hawke had abandoned him made something very hard, and very cold settle in the pit of his stomach.

“There’s something you should know, elf,” Varric said. “This… sister of yours…”

“What of her?” Fenris asked, rolling out his shoulders and trying to steel his resolve.

“She…” Varric motioned his hands at Fenris. “She doesn’t exactly look like you.”

“What is your point?”

“Nothing, I suppose. She’s just… not what I expected from someone who was blood related to you.”

Fenris tilted his head to the side, his ears twitching. “I suppose we will just have to see, then.” He reached for the handle to the door and froze, wondering if he should wait until he could find Anara. Had she forgotten? Was she in danger? Did she just… no longer care? She had been making a valiant attempt at distancing herself from him the last few days. Originally he had attributed her distance to giving him space because he’d been so distracted about Varania, but what if it was something else?

What if it was important, and ignorant thing he was, he’d completely missed it?

He would have to confront Hawke about it later, he decided. He’d already wasted enough time.

* * *

 

Varric had a very, _very_ bad feeling about all of this. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly off about the elf girl, quite the opposite really. She was incredibly polite and spoke with a refined Tevinter accent. She was beautiful and calm and everything Varric _hadn’t_ been expecting from Fenris’ sister.

Hawke’s absence struck another sour chord in him. Anyone with at least half of one functioning eyeball could see how in love with the elf she still was. There was no way she wouldn’t have been there for moral support. From the looks of the dejected face the elf had been making when he arrived, Varric would go as far as to say Fenris had been expecting her to be there as well.

So, where the hell was she?

Varric looked back and forth between Fenris and Varania, feeling Bianca getting restless at his back, feeling his trigger finger getting itchy. That same old foreboding feeling settled over him and before he could figure out just what was so disconcerting about the whole thing, they were already crossing the pub to catch the woman’s eye line.

Varric had never been the praying type, but he sent up a silent prayer to anyone that was listening that this wasn’t about to go horribly sideways.

 

* * *

 

Varania noticed him as soon as they entered, and slowly turned toward them and stood. She had bright red hair and eyes that almost looked grey from where he was standing. Her skin was as pale as porcelain and she had meek, unoffending features that were painted with makeup. There was something about her that he recognized, some sort of familiarity that fluttered across the back of his mind. Whatever the memory was, he couldn’t quite pull it to the surface.

“Hello, Leto.”

“Varania?” he asked warily. He swallowed and took a step closer. “I… remember you,” he said softly, trying to bring the memory that was scratching at the back of his mind to the forefront. “What did you call me?”

“Leto,” she said again, tilting her head to the side. “That’s your name.”

“Something is off here, elf,” Varric warned from behind him.

“It has been a long time, Leto,” she said, taking a step toward him, making him instinctively take a step back.

“Stop… stop calling me that.”

“What’s wrong, brother?” she asked. “You were the one who sent for me. You were the one who insisted I come. You were the one who wanted me to leave my training and come here.”

“Training,” Fenris said neutrally, instinctively lowering his stance like he was preparing for a fight, not sure where the sense of urgency was coming from. “Training for what?

“Why, to become a magister of course.”

“Oh, shit,” Varric said behind him.

“You… _you’re a mage?”_

“I am,” she said with a nod. “After you won Danarius’ favor, Mother and I were freed. I am a mage just as she was.”

“Mother?” he asked, staggering back a step. “No, that’s… that’s not right.”

“You fought, Leto. _Killed_ to gain your position in his house.” She stepped toward him with something close to scorn in her features. “You claimed mother’s and my freedom as your boon, but freedom was no boon. Freedom meant being tossed onto the street.”

“No,” Fenris growled, raising his arms. “I would not have wanted this. I never wanted these filthy markings.”

“You do not remember,” she said, continuing to approach him. “You do not remember winning in the tournament? The others you killed to win? You do not remember kneeling to receive your master’s blessing, Leto?”

“ _Stop calling me that!”_

“It’s your name!”

“My name is _Fenris!”_

“Oh, so the dog likes his pet name now, does he?”

Fenris recoiled, his hand naturally finding the hilt of his greatsword. Varania started laughing, not any laugh, the haunting, familiar laugh that set an alarm off in his head. He watched in unrivaled horror as the elf girl’s features melted into features Fenris recognized from his nightmares. Those lifeless gray eyes, the red of her hair fading, like a dying flower as it turned silver. The neatly styled bun of hair shortened until it was spiked up the back and top. The point of her ears slowly melted to human ones and her shoulders squared to a more broad, solid frame. The delicate features of the illusion disappeared and the sharp, aquiline face of a witch took its place.

“ _Vexis,”_ he snarled, pulling his sword off his back. He’d known it was a trap. Damn it, _he’d known._

“I knew something was off,” Varric growled, arming Bianca. “Who is she?”

“He told you right,” she said through her laughing. “The name is Vexis. I’m a shapeshifter.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out,” Varric droned.

“She is Danarius’ second apprentice,” Fenris explained. “Sent here to bring his pet home, no doubt.”

“As a matter of fact that’s _not_ why I’m here,” she said with a sway of her hips, crossing her arms. “I have never been far from you, little wolf. Not for long.”

“What have you done with my sister?”

“You don’t _have_ a sister, Fenris,” she taunted, arching one dark brow. “Hadriana made her up in an attempt to get you to spare her, for all the good it did her. Whatever family you had probably died after you won that tournament.”

“What?”

“Oh, thought I made that part up, did you?”

“That’s not true!”

“And what would be the point of lying to you now, hmm?”

He sneered an angry sound through his teeth and lifted his blade to point at her. “How did you find me, Witch?”

“We never lost you, little wolf.”

He said nothing.

“How do you think those Bounty Hunters keep finding you, hmmm?” She swayed her hips and sauntered around a table, dragging her hand along it. “We had eyes on you the whole time.”

“How?”

“Oh, but it was so easy,” she said, her features again starting to melt away into a different set. Her hair was now strawberry gold, spun into curls atop her head. Her eyes were more green now, but they still held a note of grey in them. The familiar Orlesian facade made his blood turn cold.  “Once I realized you were regularly acquainted with Lady Amell, all I had to do was insert myself into her life and I could keep tabs on you with _incredible_ ease.”

“You’re Simone DeLaure?” Varric asked, wide eyed. “What did you do with the real Simone?”

“She’s dead, of course,” she said, fanning herself for affectation. “Fenris had become much too wary to trust me in any sort of form, so I used my social leverage to find myself in the company of your Miss Amell as often as possible. That was how I eventually learned you were living in that decrepit mansion.”

“You used Anara to get to me?” he asked, his hands tightening around the hilt of his sword.

“Genius, wasn’t it? The master was incredibly pleased with me.”

“Where is she?” he growled as he advanced on her. “If you’ve hurt her…”

“Hurt her? How could I do that?” she asked, shifting back into her natural, beaked facade. “She is the one who summoned us. She is likely making her deal with Danarius as we speak.”

Fenris held the point of his blade up so it was hovering over her heart. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t blame you for thinking that, I am very good at it after all.” She waved her hands and a slew of demons started to rise up from the ground, and a small platoon of men piled in the doorway to surround them. “I have good news for you, though, little wolf. Our orders have changed: We no longer need to take you alive.”

* * *

 

“Now, how on Earth did you get that?” Danarius asked, circling the large crate of raw lyrium.

“Carefully,” Hawke said. “I’ve been collecting it for years, now.”

Danarius tilted his head to the side and raked his eyes down her form and then back up. Anara felt like her skin was crawling just from his eyes alone. “What a deliciously peculiar thing you are.”

Hawked tugged on the shackles around her wrists. It was the same room in the Holding Caves where they had cornered Hadriana all that time ago, and while she had known it was going to be dangerous, she hadn’t expected Danarius to chain her. He refused to even hear her proposal without, as he put it, ‘taking the edge off the dagger’, and she was already in too deep not to comply. Her reputation had preceded her, after all, and he apparently thought her enough of a threat to take the precaution. Each wrist was held in the air on either side of her, making it very hard for her to get to her lockpicks. She had one tucked up her sleeve, but she wasn’t going to be able to reach them without any leverage, or without being seen.

“If you’ve been doing this for years, I am very surprised you have not yet succumbed to lyrium poisoning.”

“Like I said, I was careful,” she said impatiently. “I never got more than one sample in a month. I used heavy gloves and sharp tools. That crate is covered in dwarven wards. The best in all of Thedas.”

“Clever girl, Miss Hawke. I admire a methodical mind,” Danarius praised her, bending down to pick up the half of the red lyrium idol that she had made Varric give up. “And what is this?”

“We don’t really know,” she said. “We found it in the Deep Roads. It’s lyrium of some kind. Very powerful, but also very dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?”

“It drives people insane,” she admitted with a shrug. “They say it sings to them and soon all they care about is answering some kind of fictional song, thinking it will give them great power.”

“Fascinating,” he said, turning it over in his hand. “And this is your proposal? This trove of lyrium for my word that I will leave Fenris be?”

“I want more than your word. I want a blood pact, and you will get more than the lyrium.”

His eyebrows went up. “I’m listening.”

She wetted her lips and tried to rally her arguments. “Fenris was a bodyguard, yes?”

“Among other things.”

Anara ignored how her stomach turned. “Well, you’ve clearly lasted almost a decade without him.”

“Your point?”

“Maybe you don’t really have need for a bodyguard any longer,” she said carefully. “Maybe you’re more in the market for an assassin.”

She watched the implications settle and the understanding light his eyes.

“You?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “You are offering yourself in this bargain?”

“Exactly,” she said. “There has to be more than enough lyrium in that crate to perform the ritual again. You give me a blood pact that you will give Fenris his freedom, and you can perform the ritual on me instead.”

Danarius stared at her for a long time, narrowing his eyes like he was weighing a piece of meat. “You do realize,” he drawled as he approached her, “that the process will very likely rob you of your memories just as it did him. All that you were before then would be lost.”

She smiled ruefully. “Let’s just say that I don’t really consider that a downside.”

Again his bushy eyebrows lifted as he looked at her. “Indeed? Do you hate yourself so much?”

Anara cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably, pulling on her restraints again. “Let’s just say that I don’t think I have all that much to live for.”

There was another long silence before the mage smiled a toothy, terrifying smile. “Fascinating” 


	47. The Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how sometimes you have so many projects you want to do that you just crumble under the pressure and end up doing none of them? That's been my past couple of weeks. But I love this story and I love that you guys love it and I want to finish it SO FREAKING BAD! I SWEAR!
> 
> Sorry for the motivational dip. I'm going to try and get my stupid butt in gear.
> 
> Thanks for all your support guys. I love y'all like hella.
> 
> LLL,  
> Roarkshop

Fenris couldn’t remember the last time he’d run so fast. Even with the blood of Danarius’ second apprentice still fresh on his sword, there was no sense of victory. There was no rejoicing to be had, no satisfaction in staring at her lifeless grey eyes and beaked face. All he’d wanted was information, and just like he’d gotten it from Hadriana, he’d gotten it from Vexis.

So he ran.

Isabela was right on his heels. She had joined in the fight at the Hanged Man since it had “rudely woken her up” and was determined to get Hawke out of the mess she was in. Varric was likely trailing behind them somewhere, trying to keep up with his stubby legs. Fenris couldn’t spare a thought for either of them, all he could think about was getting to the Holding Caves. If what Vexis said was true, and Hawke was making some sort of deal with Danarius, she had no idea just how much trouble she was in.

Why would she do this? What kind of deal could she possibly have thought worth meeting with Danarius? She knew what he was, she knew what he’d done to Fenris, why would she offer him _anything_? The creeping sense of betrayal that was whispering at the back of his mind was hard to ignore, but he knew Hawke. She would not betray him, at least not in the way that Vexis had implied.

_She has obviously grown tired of you. Asking us to take you off her hands was the least we could do for what she’s offering._

Fenris shook the memory out of his head as he ran. Hawke would never betray him. It was impossible. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw it with his own eyes.

Before he could charge through the entrance of the cave, Isabela practically tackled him and slammed him up against the rocky mountainside.

“What are you doing?” He growled. “Let go of me!”

“Just shut up and use your head for a minute,” Isabela said through her panting, a severity in her tone he didn’t think he’d ever heard her use before. “It’s all very noble and romantic of you to want to go charging into the enemy base to rescue your lady-love, but don’t you think it might be wise to know what we’re up against first?”

Fenris huffed an angry breath through his nose that sounded more like a growl. “What do you suggest?”

Just then the sound of quick, heavy feet rounded the corner, along with the long, painful breaths pumping from Varric’s chest. He dropped right into a sitting position upon seeing them.

“I think… I think I need to get a horse or something…”

“Maybe I’ll put you in a rucksack,” Isabela said with a smile. “Carry you on my back.”

“Yes. That. Make it happen.” Then he flopped onto his back.

* * *

  
  


“Master, you cannot be considering this,” the young blonde girl was pleading. Lora, was her name. She was another apprentice of Danarius, apparently. “Vexis has probably already killed the little wolf. We do not need her.”

“Silence,” Danarius hissed.

“What?” Hawke asked, pulling on her chains. “You… you sent someone to _kill_ him? We had a deal!”

“We had no such thing,” Danarius scoffed. “It was insurance. I had not yet heard your little plan.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hawke said through her teeth. “Fenris has taken down everything you’ve ever thrown at him. He will survive and he will come after _you_ if you do not get out of here.”

“That, my lovely Hawke,” the mage said, trailing a finger under her chin, “is precisely the plan.”

“What?” she asked. “He will never yield to you, you have to know that.”

“I was sure I was going to have to kill him, yes, but your proposal is an interesting one.” Danarius waved a hand, making one of the rocks of lyrium start levitating, slowly rotating over his palm. It reacted to his magic, glowing that faint blue. “A trained assassin in lieu of the troublesome wolf. I had not expected your deal to be quite so… beneficial.”

She yanked on her chains and tried to pull away when he took her chin in his hand.

“You are a very valuable commodity, Miss Hawke,” he said, so close his breath made her stomach turn. “My curiosity is undoubtedly peaked.”

“Then take me,” she said, stamping a foot. “You don’t need him. Leave him be, give him his freedom, and you’ll get to do your stupid ritual on me.”

“And what happens if you turn on us as Fenris did?” Lora asked. “You will be twice as dangerous and infinitely harder to find.”

“You said the lyrium ritual would take my memories,” she said, looking between them. “If I do not remember freedom, how would I know to take it?”

“You wish to lose your memories?” Lora asked. “All that you were would be gone.”

“And who would remember me?” Hawke asked, yanking on her chains again. “The one family member I haven’t gotten killed is imprisoned for life. I’m the perfect target, I have no one to come after me.”

“And what of your little troupe of miscreants?”

“If you hurry they will be none the wiser,” she growled. “Unless your little plan to kill Fenris has alerted them, in which case you are running out of time!”

Danarius cocked his head to the side and pushed her hair out of her eyes. His touch was cold, like a corpse’s, his breath was even worse. She felt like she might throw up.

“You have fallen in love with him, then?” he asked in that condescending way that told her he already knew the answer. “You’ve given your heart to the slave?”

“He’s not a slave,” she sneered through her teeth. “He never will be again, mark my words. You either get me or you get _nothing!”_

There was a long silence before Danarius nodded. “Very well. Your life for the wolf’s.”

“ ** _NO! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!”_** a voice thundered, cracking through the huge stone room so hard it made her bones vibrate.

She didn’t know where he was, but she would know his voice in her sleep. She tugged on her chains.

“You’re too late, little wolf,” Danarius said, turning to see the snowy-haired elf being stopped by his guards. He appeared to be alone. And unarmed. It was odd, she thought, that he didn’t appear to be fighting his way through. It looked as if he were letting them stop him.

“Danarius,” Fenris said, pushing his way in. “Don’t do this.”

Danarius waved the guards away. “Been a long time, Fenris.”

“He’s up to something,” the apprentice warned.

“Fenris, don’t!” Hawke shouted as the elf approached, pulling on her restraints again.

“You can’t take her, Danarius, she is far too valuable,” Fenris countered. “The entire city would look for her.”

“The term,” Danarius growled, “is _Master_.”

“Yes, of course. Master,” Fenris repeated faithfully, holding his hands up in polite surrender. “Don’t do this.”

“What are you doing?” Hawke lamented, tugging on her chains again, tears stinging her eyes. She never thought she would ever hear him say the word. She never thought he would submit so easily. She choked on a sob as she frantically tried to get to her lockpicks.

“You are here for the girl?” Danarius asked, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Yes,” he said, slowly lowering onto both his knees. “Master, please. Don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” Fenris repeated without second thought. “Release her. She means nothing to you.”

Danarius tilted his head to the side and stepped closer. “Ah, but she appears to mean everything to _you_.”

Fenris swallowed, and his eyes darted to Anara only briefly, holding her eye contact for a second that hung in the air for a small eternity. She shook her head, tried to get him to change course.

“Please, no. Don’t do this, Fenris.” Tears were spilling from her eyes freely. She wouldn’t be able to bear it. She would throw herself into the sea _tomorrow_ if Fenris was taken by Danarius because of her. How many times must her attempts to help cause her lose the people she loved most? When would she learn?

Both men ignored her struggling.

“Release her,” Fenris repeated softly. “Let her go and I will come quietly.”

The apprentice giggled happily, the small woman doing a gay little spin before running her hands over Fenris’ hair from behind him.

“We have missed you, little wolf,” she said with a smile, resting her cheek on the top of his head and looking at Hawke. “Welcome home.”

Hawke watched Fenris try to swallow his revulsion, but the fear and anger were apparent to her.

“Yes, I think you will come home,” Danarius said, tipping Fenris’ chin up. His voice deepened and took on an almost ethereal echoing quality. “And you will learn your place.”

“No,” Fenris said, the fear showing plainly now. “No, _please._ ”

“ _Occideite eos omnes_ , Fenris,” Danarius chanted, his voice almost musical as it swirled through the chamber.

Hawke had never seen his markings come alight so quickly. He gnashed his teeth in his mouth and his shoulders began to shake.

“Don’t… don’t do this,” Fenris begged through his teeth as he fought whatever was threatening to take control. “Master, please.”

Lora tugged back on his hair hard, and Danarius took him by the throat. Fenris’ hands reached to try and tug himself free, but the mage held firm.

“ _Stop_!” Anara shouted, tugging hard on her chains. “ _You’re hurting him_!” She fumbled to keep her lockpick in her fingers as she tried to free herself. She thought she heard some kind of explosion, but didn’t know who was fighting whom. She didn’t care either. The sounds around them were getting lost under the sound of Danarius’ voice, the humming of Fenris’ lyrium that seemed to be getting louder and louder.

“ _Never again will you question your place, little wolf_ ,” Danarius growled, lifting Fenris to his feet. His voice sounded like many voices, whispering and vibrating around them like fog. “ _You will remember this day forever. You will think of it whenever you entertain the idea of freedom.”_

“No…” Fenris croaked out, pulling on Danarius’ wrist. “Please...”

“ _Occideite._ ”

“ _Stop_!” Hawke screamed. “ _Stop! Can’t you see, you’re killing him?_ ”

_“Eos.”_

“Shut up, bitch,” Lora growled, tugging harder on Fenris’ hair.

“ ** _Omnes!”_**

The sound that tore out of Fenris’ throat was something she would never forget, not in her whole life. It was a sound that would haunt her nightmares. It was the sound of an animal, the sound children thought the monsters under their beds made. He roared a sound so vicious and terrifying that Hawke stopped trying to free herself and just stared at him.

Brighter and brighter he glowed. Light poured from his fingertips, his hair, his eyes, even his mouth was burning with the unholy light. It got brighter and brighter, his breathing coming out in hard, fast, painful pushes through his teeth, each breath accompanied by a terrible growling sound that made her hair raise on the nape of her neck.

When Danarius released Fenris’ throat, Lora let go of his hair, and he just stood there, staring at Danarius. His features contorting into a rage that Hawke had never seen before.

“ _Good boy_ ,” Danarius cooed. “ _Do not deny what you are. You are a monster, Fenris. Never forget it.”_

The light of the lyrium did not quite fade, but it got darker. The burning white he was glowing with was suddenly almost pink. The light got darker and darker, burning until the blinding light was no longer white, Hawke realized, but turning red.

“ _Kill her, Fenris_ ,” Danarius said, turning to look at Hawke over his shoulder. “ _Kill them all._ ”

“Elf, stop!” Varric shouted from somewhere Hawke couldn’t see.

Lora, cackling like mad, made her way to Hawke and jabbed her in the ribs hard. “End of the line for the Hawk!” she sang at her. “It’ll be lovely watching the artist work again.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said, tugging on her chains as she watched him approach her. “Maker’s sake, _snap out of it!”_

His burning red eyes settled on her face. Saliva dripped from his chin as he sneered at her through his teeth. His hands were flexed out, the sharp points of his armor melded to his hands like claws.

He took slow, purposeful steps toward her, each one crackling with electricity. As her right wrist came free, Lora was quick to grab it and hold it in place. Then he was looming over her, standing toe to toe and staring unseeingly down into her face.

“This isn’t your fault,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, a sob choking her words. She tore her hand out of Lora’s grip and put it on his chest.

She could hear Danarius and Lora laughing, Varric’s voice was a distant echo. She saw an arrow bounce off the shoulder of Fenris’ armor, but she didn’t dare look away. Staring up into his burning face, she wished that, just one more time, she would have been able to see him look at her that way he had always used to. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t give to undo the events of today. She thought about telling him that she loved him, but she couldn’t bring the words to the surface. That would do nothing but cause him more guilt later.

“Forgive yourself,” she said, her voice weak and wavering. “And maybe me as well, someday.”

He lifted one taloned hand, rearing it back as if he was going to thrust it through her sternum. Hawke braced for impact, closing her eyes and resigning herself to her fate. She deserved no less.

She heard his hand thrust forward rather than felt it. She heard the sickening crunch of bone against metal and the wet sound of flesh being torn. She even heard the small pained sound that it caused.

When Hawke opened her eyes, Fenris was still in front of her, still burning red like a demon. But he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at Lora

“ ** _No!_** ” Danarius roared. **_“Impossible!”_**

Hawke turned to see Lora’s corpse on the ground, the expression on her face shocked as if even in death she couldn’t believe it. Fenris was holding what appeared to be pieces of the mage’s spine in his hand.

Fenris released the bloody cartilage and reached for the chain around Hawke’s still bound wrist, tugging it free of the wall as if it had been made of hay and not stone.

Once she was free, Fenris turned over his shoulder. “ _You_ ,” he sneered through his teeth, his voice powerful like a force of nature, “ _are no longer my master_.”

 


	48. The Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN: Wow. What a crazy, busy, screwed up couple of weeks its been. You ever have those times where it seems like everything goes to hell at the same time? Dang it. ANYWAY. In an attempt to keep my chin up I have finished the chapter. I really hope you like it I've been kind of making myself crazy over it because I want the last few chapters to be good enough to wrap up our epic journey but just having had the drive or the motivation to get it done. SIGH. Sorry to gripe. I'm really incredibly lucky to have all of you in my corner. I freaking love you guys and your feedback means so much to me. Thank you so much.**
> 
> **Lovelovelove**
> 
> **Roarkshop**

“ _You,”_ Fenris growled. “ _Are no longer my master.”_

“What are you doing?” Danarius demanded, backing up a step. “What have you _done?!_ ”

Fenris turned around fully, making himself a large, undeniable barrier between Danarius and Hawke. She was free from her chains, but instead of running he could feel her at his back, and just the knowledge that she was there strengthened his resolve as nothing ever could. Claws flexed and fangs bared, he let forth another loud, thunderous howl. This one was different, however. It wasn’t torn out of him, it wasn’t a reflex brought on by his blood rage, a sound that was ripped out of his throat that he was powerless to stop. This was the roar brought on by years of tormented fury, terrifying and awesome in its power, but it had direction, too. It was a tool, something he was using.

He was in control. He was his own master now.

...Perhaps he always had been.

Fenris took one slow, purposeful step toward Danarius, and felt a bolt of satisfaction shaft down his spine as the mage instinctively took a stumbling step backward. Danarius was afraid. Good.

“ _Stop!_ ” Danarius barked, raising his hand and sending out a wave of energy that made Fenrus slide backward. Fenris pushed through it and took another threatening step forward. Then another.

Fenris launched himself toward Danarius just as the mage turned to flee. He found himself restrained by the guards who had jumped to his defense, but Fenris tore through them as if they had been made up of tissue paper. He threw them in any direction, tearing through their flesh with his burning, glowing claws as he did it. He was a force of nature -- a wolf shaking off fleas.

He didn’t really know where Hawke and the others were. He could hear Varric and Isabela’s voices, and he knew Hawke had probably launched into the fray once she found her blades, but he had no conscious idea of where they were or what they were doing. All he knew was that he was killing through the small army of guards that had leaped to defend Danarius. He heard the sound of their final, gurgling breaths. He felt the soft, gooey tissue of their vital organs melting in his hands. He could smell the scent of their blood and see the stark terror in their eyes as he took what was left of their time away from them.

“He’s getting away,” Hawke said, putting her hand on his wrist to try and pull him toward the exit. Danarius, surrounded by a transparent barrier of magic, was disappearing through one of the doorways, a guard on his heels who had grabbed the satchel of lyrium.

Fenris lurched as if he were going to go after him, every instinct in his body telling him he needed to be neutralized. Danarius had been a constant threat, a looming danger at the back of his mind every second of every day. He thought for so long that he wanted nothing like he wanted to watch Danarius die in his hands. Because of the mage, Fenris had only had precious few moments of peace in the ten years since his escape.

But those very moments, few though they were, caused Fenris to dig his heels in and force himself, and Anara, to a halt. He stared down at her hand around his wrist, turning his arm and feeling that familiar snap of electricity that her touch always caused, even through his burning lyrium.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “We have to hurry!”

“No,” he heard himself saying. With just the one word the red of his lyrium started to melt back to the whitish-blue.

“What?”

“I said no,” he said, more firmly this time.

“Fenris,” she pleaded, closing the distance between them. “Please, he’s getting away!”

“Let him,” he growled, yanking his arm out of her grasp.

“Andraste’s studded girdle, what the hell was all that?” Varric asked, making his way to them with Isabela. He turned toward Fenris. “Are you alright over there?”

“Enough dawdling,” Isabela chimed. “The longer we stay here the farther he gets.”

“Come,” Fenris said, taking Hawke by her bicep and starting to pull her along. “We are leaving.”

“Wait!” Hawke demanded, trying to pull free of his grip. “What are you doing?”

“I am taking you home.”

“Hold on, just—” she yanked her arm free and turned him to face her. “He’s here. He’s here and within your grasp.”

“Uh, Hawke?” Varric said. “Maybe do as he says?”

Hawke ignored him. “This may be your only chance,” she said instead. “You can’t just let him get away!”

“I _can_ and I _will_!” Fenris barked. “I am taking you home. _Now_!”

“Fenris, please,” she said, taking his glowing face in her hands. He could feel the electricity in his skin even still. Even as his lyrium was fading enough that he could see clearly again, he could still see the glow in his peripheral vision. “You can drag me home and shout me down, later. I know you probably have a lot to say and I deserve all of it, but I am not just going to let you walk away when you’re so close.”

“I don’t _care_ about him,” Fenris sneered, taking her hard by the shoulders. “Don’t you see, you stupid thing? I don’t care about _any of it!”_

“But, your freedom…”

“ _To the void with my freedom!”_ he raged, the light of his lyrium surging before starting to fade again.

There was a terrible silence around them, louder and more deafening than any thunder. They stood there, locked in each other’s eye contact for an eternity. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling. The anger was there, the rage simmering just under his skin, threatening to take control of him. How _dare_ she try and sacrifice herself? How _dare_ she bring Danarius here and not confide her plans in him? _How dare she!?_

But that wasn’t all there was. His concern for her safety was still prominent, his heart was still hammering in his chest, swelling painfully under the knowledge that not only did Hawke think she had nothing to live for, but that she was willing to sacrifice what she did have in order to give him what he’d been chasing for a decade.

He’d known for a long time now that he loved her. The unquantifiable feeling in his chest that always squeezed around his heart when she entered a room could only be described with that one, very specific, word. In those moments though as he stared down into her face, he realized that he now had rather definitive proof that she loved him in return. Maybe she had the whole time.

“Fenris…” she said softly, shaking her head and staring up into his burning eyes but not knowing what to say.

“We’ll follow him,” Isabela suggested in an attempt to break the tension. “Let’s just see where he goes and if we get a clear shot.”

“Do as you wish,” Fenris said, sweeping Hawke up into his arms, “but you will do it without us.”

 

* * *

 

 

She had no idea what to say. So she said nothing.

Fenris carried Hawke back to town without a word. He didn’t stop glowing completely until they were at the city gates. So many things were running through her mind. She couldn’t get the sight of him out of her head. He’d been like a force of nature, burning red and roaring his righteous fury into the stone chamber, shaking the earth under her feet.

He had spent so long telling her that there was a monster inside of him, but she’d never imagined just how literal he’d been. To know that he had that rage in him, that incredible fury that Danarius had nurtured in him from youth, terrified her. More than that, though, it made her sad for him, to know he was living with this deep, dark _thing_ inside of him his whole life. Still, he had taken control of it. That alone was proof of his strength of character. Was it his years of freedom that had made him able to fight it? Was it spending so long in the company of friends, learning how to be a free man? Had he been able to do it all along? Or did she dare hope that, even lost to a supernatural rage, he wasn’t able to harm her?

She nuzzled into his throat as he carried her through town, enjoying the feeling of him so close. It might be the last time, she reflected. It was very possible that once they were in the safety of her home he would rightfully tell her he wanted nothing more to do with her. She hoped not.

It was a long, silent journey to Hightown.

Orana looked relieved to see her safe when Fenris strode into the parlor. She said nothing though, just retreated into the kitchen with a smile as Fenris stomped up the stairs with Hawke in his arms. He set her down on her bed and stood, an unusual restlessness in him. His shoulders were tense and his fingers kept flexing out and then relaxing again.

“Get some rest,” he growled, turning to leave. “I am going to clear my head.”

“Fenris, wait,” she said, sitting up and moving her legs off the side of the bed.

“I do not want to do this now,” he said softly. “I am much too dangerous still.”

“I’m sorry,” she called after him, not knowing what else to say. “I hadn’t meant for it to turn out like this.”

He froze in his tracks with his hand on the doorknob. She saw his free hand tighten into a fist and his lyrium start glowing softly again, but he quickly got it under control. Still, when he turned around to look at her, the cold, steely look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

“That,” he rumbled, voice soft and yet carrying well because everything had gone quiet around him, “is precisely the problem.”

“I was trying to help you,” she tried, getting back to her feet.

“Were you?” he asked, his words still straining through his teeth as he started to take slow steps toward her. “And how do you figure? How do you figure your plan to sell yourself into _slavery_ would somehow help me?”

“I was trying to barter for your freedom!”

“Freedom? Is that what you would call it? You think the knowledge that you had given your life for mine would have been _freedom?”_

She swallowed and started to pick at her nails. “Well… you weren’t supposed to find out.”

“Oh, that makes it better,” he scoffed as he approached. “That way I would have just-just thought you’d disappeared. That way I would have spent the rest of my time scouring Thedas for you.”

“You would have your sister,” Hawke defended. “You were going to get your family and your memories back and—”

“And what?” he interrupted. “And I wouldn’t have needed you? Is that what you think? That after all this, after everything, I would just… trade you away?”

“Fenris…”

“You are such a _hypocrite!_ Was it not this very thing I did to you? Making decisions on your behalf? Running off and leaving you here, crying and alone and wondering if I was _dead!?”_

“It’s… it’s not the same thing.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Because you don’t have anything to live for? Because I would simply _be alright_ without you? Because I do not care as you did? What lies have you told yourself to convince you this was the right choice?”

“I just… wanted you to be free…”

"How _dare_ you!” he roared, pointing in her face. “You claim to want my freedom and yet _you_ were the one to make that choice for me. _You_ were the one to assume that I would rather have Danarius gone than you alive. _You_ chose to execute a plan that affected my future as much yours without so much as consulting me on it. You didn’t do this for me, you did this for you! To escape your grief!”

“What do I have keeping me here, hmm?” she raged back, motioning her hands as she closed the distance between them. “What do I have to keep me going beside my trail of failures and a string of broken hearts?”

“You have _family!”_ he barked back at her. “Real, tangible family. People that adore you, a city that worships the ground you walk on. You think we would not mourn you? You think Bethany would not grieve? You think Varric would ever be the same? You think I would not spend the rest of my days trying to find you?”

“You have never wanted _anything_ like you wanted your freedom! I was trying to give you that!”

_“What is freedom without you?”_ he roared, gripping her too hard on the shoulders and shaking her. "It is cold and bitter and it tastes like _ashes_. It is meaningless and I do. Not. Want it. Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you at the mercy of that madman? It nearly _broke_ me. I have never been more terrified in my entire _life_ than I was in the moment I saw you chained to that wall.”

She swallowed and sighed through her nose, yielding under his fury. It was justified and she knew it. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I never wanted that. Maker, hearing you call him Master again…”

“I do not care, you little fool,” he growled, pinning her up against her dresser. “They are just _words!”_

“But, I never wanted you to have to—”

“They have no power over me. When I saw you in those chains I would have said anything, _done_ anything to get you out of there safely.”

“I know.”

“Do you not see? There _is_ no freedom without you,” he ground out through his teeth, shaking her again. His voice cracked and she saw his eyes starting to glisten with unshed tears. “I am free so long as I have you, idiot that you are. Let him keep chasing me, I would rather spend the rest of my too-long life fighting off hunters and mages than spend a _day_ without knowing you were safe. _Nothing_ could be worse than the thought of living without you.”

“Fenris…” She had no idea what to say. She had never seen him like this. He was so emotionally raw, feeling everything so acutely. She could feel it through his touch and see it in his tormented expression. She swallowed nervously and reached up to wipe away a tear that had leaked from the corner of his eye. Once it was gone she turned her fingers to gingerly stroke his cheek, simply staring up into his eyes with no notion of what needed to be said.

“If there is a future to be had,” he said softly, still holding her by her shoulders as he pulled her into his chest. “I will walk into it gladly at your side, or I will not walk into it at all.”

Hawke felt her throat strain as the sting of tears filled her eyes and she let out a pathetic whimpering sound before the inevitable sob tore out of her throat. She threw her arms around his neck and he crushed her to him, cradling her head as he wrapped around her.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried into his neck. “I thought it was the right thing. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“Don’t ever do this to me again, Anara,” he growled as he held her, his voice rough and strained from the emotion he was trying to bury. “I would not survive it. Maker, I would never forgive myself.”

He bent his head and kissed her, and Hawke didn’t hesitate to throw her arms back around his neck and lean into the kiss. He kissed her with a fierce, knowing passion that she’d never really felt in him before. He kissed her with purpose, and drive, like he was drinking life from her. She could feel his hand tangling into her hair and she revelled in the _urgency_ in all his movements.

By the time they finally broke away from the kiss, they were both breathless. He dropped his forehead onto hers and shook his head, swallowing thickly.

“Never again,” he said softly. “Maker, if I hadn’t been such a coward back then, I could have avoided all of this.”

“You let him go,” she said, shaking her head and taking a stuttering breath. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“He doesn’t matter to me,” he said softly, pulling her closer. “Not anymore. What happens to him is irrelevant. This is what I care about.”

“Oh, Fenris…” She pulled back just enough to look at him. He wiped the tears from her cheeks and she did the same for him.

“I love you, Anara,” he said softly, taking her hand so he could kiss her fingertips. “I didn’t even know I could, but I do. With every part of me.”

Hawke felt her heart leap up into her throat and a shiver storm down her spine. She had suspected, of course, but to hear him say it changed everything in an instant.

“You do?” she asked, searching his face. “How-how do you know?”

He shook his head and smiled a little, just the barest twitch of his lips. “Because why else would I be willing to let you make me a madman the rest of my days?”

She laughed, and let her head fall onto his chest, not caring that he still had his armor on.

“I do love you,” she said softly as he held her. “I tried not to, but it was useless.”

“I am glad for that much then,” he said, smiling against her hair as he peppered her scalp with kisses. “Whatever is ahead, we will weather it together. Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said, squeezing him to her. “You’re right. You’re right about all of it.”

“Yes, I know,” he said with a soft laugh. “It’s almost like you could have just talked to me.”

“Said the pot to the kettle.”

He smiled into her hair and lifted her chin with his fingers. “Touché.”


	49. The Ending

“ _She was like_

_April sky_

_Sunrise in her eyes_

_Child of light_

_Shining star_

_Fire in her heart_

_Brightest day_

_Melting snow_

_Breaking through the chill_

_Ocotber…_

_And April”_

 

* * *

 

 

Kissing Anara felt the way it always had, like an odd mixture of fire and lightning that snaked down his spine and bolted his feet to the floor. It was amazing to him, how little he cared about the fate of Danarius after all this time. For ten years, Danarius was always at the forefront of his mind, demanding to be remembered, forcing Fenris to think of him constantly, looking over his shoulder and refusing to relax. Yet there he stood, in Anara’s bedroom, while Danarius was occupying the same city, and he couldn’t have possibly cared less about him.

Now he closed his eyes and saw _her._ He saw the defeat in her posture, the desperation in her expression. He saw shackles ‘round her wrists and tears in her eyes and if Fenris ever found Danarius again, it would be those images Fenris made him pay for. The idea of the magister putting Anara through what he did to Fenris, that he would even _consider_ such an action, made the fury light in him all over again.

But she had been right, in the end. She had been right all along. The only thing keeping him from his freedom had been his own short-sightedness. It had taken this nightmare — seeing her at the mercy of his old master — to make him fully understand.

He’d been free all along.

Fenris watched her deft fingers as she unclasped the buckles on his armor. She slid the metal pieces down his arms as if she were handling something precious and fragile. First his left arm, then his right, setting the pieces down carefully in front of the hearth before she went to work on his chest plate. As fast as she was, she only moved slowly when she wanted to, he knew. So he watched, unable to take his eyes off her as she savored the slow removal of his armor.

Her fingers then made short work of the buttons of his tunic, sliding her hands inside to open it up, making his markings come alight as she dragged her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, pushing the garment off down his arms.

He didn’t stop her, but nor did he help. He just watched her curious, agile fingers explore his skin. She looked at him like she thought he might be magic. Like he was an ancient god come to life. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, really, the way she looked at him. Her fiery eyes drank him in, and he watched with rapt attention as she studied him. It was one of those moments where he wished he could look through her eyes, to see whatever it was she saw in him that held her attention so faithfully.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said finally, tracing the markings on his pectoral muscles with her fingertips, watching them react to her touch. “I’ve always thought so, but…”

“You shouldn’t steal my lines,” he said gently, “I only have so many.”

She smiled at that, looking up into his face for a minute before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his sternum. He tensed under the sensation, bunching his hands into fists at his sides. She kissed a trail up his chest, over his collarbones until she was kissing the side of his throat, and he swallowed thickly, unable to fight the frenzy she always managed to ignite in him.

He tipped her chin up, holding it in the crook of his thumb and forefinger and taking time to simply look at her for a while. She was still so stunning to him, with her golden eyes and raven hair, still held back in a messy pony tail from the fighting. He watched her lips part as if she were about to speak, but he didn’t want to talk anymore. Enough had been said that day and he had never been all that proficient with conversation.

So he kissed her again, sliding his hand down the line of her jaw to hold her face in his palm, snaking the other around to the small of her back to pull her further into his chest. She fit against him perfectly, like they were built to stand just this way, entangled in each other’s arms.

She made one of those soft, desperate little sounds into the kiss, and he pulled her in tighter still, wanting to eliminate the space between them. He started to unhook her sheathes of daggers from around her hips, not bothering to take his time as Anara had with his. He slid his hand up her spine, quickly unlacing the back of her vest and letting her slide her arms out of it. She helped him pull her shirt off over her head and as soon as it fell to the floor he was kissing her again, cradling her face in both his large palms and tasting her breath like it was oxygen.

Fenris yielded to her as she tugged him toward the bed, the curious, hesitant movements from their last encounter gone. There was a wild, recklessness about them both, a desperation that hadn’t been there before. He wanted her, yes, like he’d never wanted anything before her, but that wasn’t all it was. He wanted her to understand, he wanted to be clear in his intentions. He wanted her to know that he was there for good, if she’d have him. He wanted her now, and for every day thereafter. He wanted to stop living one day at a time, resigning himself to a goal of living to see tomorrow. He wanted to plan a future around her, he wanted to love her until there was nothing left in the world.

Once they had finally lost the last scraps of their clothing, they spent the whole of the night getting lost in one another. One moment they were wild and frenzied, unable to get enough of the indescribable sensations; the next the world had slowed to a crawl around them, time sinking away and becoming irrelevant.

They made love long into the night, and Fenris tasted every inch of her skin, brushed her hair back from her eyes and told her how he loved her. It was so much more than a night of passion shared between them. It was a declaration. It was an apology.

It was a promise.

They were in love, and Fenris knew now that it was all that mattered. Everything else would fade to dust eventually, mountains would crumble into the sea and memories would fall to ash, but Fenris and Anara, their love was invulnerable.

For the first time in his life, Fenris held forever in his hands.

 

* * *

 

 

Hawke turned to see the first light of morning coming through her window and smiled before letting her head fall back onto Fenris’ chest. She felt his hand falling back into her hair naturally and listened to his still rapidly beating heart as they seemed perfectly content to simply waste the day away with each other.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” she said finally, after he’d explained about what had happened in the Hanged Man. “I was so sure you were going to find your family.”

“I did,” he said, making his point by squeezing her closer to him, covering her hand on his chest with his own. “Just not where you thought I was going to.”

She couldn’t stop the grin on her face even if she’d wanted to. She felt like such a fool in the light of the morning. The voices were still there, still reminding her of what she’d lost. That wasn’t all going to just go away because Fenris loved her. But it helped to know that he did not hold her grief against her. Her stupidity, maybe, but never her grief.

“We should go see Bethany,” Fenris said, his deep voice rumbling through his chest. “Maybe we could take her breakfast.”

“You want to go see my sister?” she asked, sitting up on her elbows to look at him. “Why?”

“Because yesterday I heard you admit to having nothing to live for,” he said gently, reaching to trace the line of her jaw with his fingertips. “I am going to dedicate my immediate future to proving you wrong.”

“Fenris… I was just—”

“Hush,” he said, sitting up to kiss her. “You need not justify your sorrows to me, Anara, but I will not let you suffer them alone any longer.”

She watched him get up from the bed and start gathering his clothes as if he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. Yet her eyes stung with the feeling of unshed tears and her heart felt like it was trying to climb up out of her mouth. She bit it all down, smiling to herself and obligingly following him out of the bed.

They ended up bathing together that morning, and he let her style his hair into spikes or horns with the soap, simply staring at her with that same bored, disgruntled expression before she rinsed his hair. Once they were both dressed in clean clothes and Orana had prepared breakfast for three in a basket, Fenris held her hand in his and walked with her down to the Gallows.

She decided not to tell her sister about what had happened on the coast the previous day. However, just sitting with her and talking about how they missed their mother, or chattering away about memories and the way she used to infuriate them, helped tremendously. Bethany was in the Circle, true, but she held no ill will toward her sister for it. Bethany Hawke would be the very last person in Thedas to blame Anara for their troubles. They had both always done their best, and even when that hadn’t been enough, they’d never given up on each other.

Her sister’s words caused the guilt to well up in her, bringing tears to her eyes, not for the first time that morning or the last. She held her sister for a long time, able to _feel_ the ‘I told you so’ coming from Fenris in all his stoic silence.

Fenris was right. She _was_ a fool.

 

* * *

 

 

Fenris and Anara held hands again as they walked through the city. Even though he suspected Danarius was long gone, he still wanted very badly to keep Anara close at hand. The magister would be dealt with one way or another, he was certain, but Fenris no longer felt like it was his personal burden to carry out the retribution. His destiny lay beside him, in flame colored eyes and the voice that lit up his world.

Their walk into the Hanged Man was not friendly. A few of the employees were still cleaning up from the brawl, and the entire pub went silent when the two of them walked in. They both tensed in the doorway, not used to feeling unwelcome in Varric’s establishment.

“Well,” the dwarf said, arms crossed. He was standing just at the top of the stairs that led to the back rooms. “Finally decided to grace us with your presence have you?”

Fenris cleared his throat loudly. “We were—”

“Shut up, elf,” Varric snapped, holding a hand up for silence before pointing at Hawke. “You. My office. Now.”

Fenris had never heard that particular tone of voice on Varric, and as Anara let go of his hand to make her way back, he followed her slowly, unsure of just what was going on.

When they got back into Varric’s private room, Isabela, Merrill, Aveline, and Anders were all sitting around the room in various positions of angry silence. Isabela was leaning on the wall, one foot propped up behind her as she dug dirt out of her nails with a dagger, making a point of not looking at them. Anders had his arms crossed on the table, scowling at the far wall. Merrill was next to him, her arms crossed and determinedly looking anywhere but the pair of them. Aveline was the only one moving all that much, like an angry bull pacing back and forth in a pen too small.

Anara followed Varric in until he stopped just in front of the table and turned to look at her. Fenris crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame, not wanting to get too close to whatever was happening.

“Well,” Anara said, shifting on her feet, “quite a merry party today, aren’t— _OOPH.”_

Varric had reeled a fist back and punched her square in the abdomen, forcing her to hold her stomach and buckle over, thoroughly knocking the wind out of her and bringing her to her knees so she was eye level with him.

Fenris lurched like he was going to help her but Aveline’s cold stare told him to stay where he was.

_“Who would remember me?!”_ Varric shouted at her. “If you hurry, they’ll be none the wiser?"

“What?” She asked through gasping breaths, looking up at him. “What are you—”

“I _heard_ you, Hawke,” Varric growled at her, “all three of us did. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice? That you could just… _disappear_ and we wouldn’t come looking for you?"

“Varric, I was—”

“You’re my best friend!” he raged. “I’ve known you for ten years! I stood beside you when you were just another Ferelden refugee and I’ve stood by you every day after that! You were there when Bartrand betrayed me and you were there when we found the broken pieces of him in that damned hovel in Hightown! Did you really think I would just _forget_ about you if you were gone?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“ _You’re damn right, you didn’t think!”_

“You helped me with Karl,” Anders said, standing up from the table and planting his hands in it. “You never blamed me for my transgressions and you never gave up on me. And you just think… what, that I’d just give up on you?"

“You gave me a part of my people back,” Merrill said, shooting to her feet now too since they were all clearly going to say their piece. “You helped me deliver the news to the families of the fallen, and you held me while I cried over Pol. You never agreed with what I was doing, but you never stopped believing in me either, always trusting me to do the right thing, especially when it was important. I would give you the same. Always, Hawke.”

Isabela threw her dagger so it embedded into the far wall. “ _I came back for you_ ,” she growled, whirling on her. “We may have had our differences in the past but I came back because you made me a better person. I almost watched you _die_ for my mistakes. You think I would just let you disappear? You think I just _wouldn’t care?”_

“You were all I had,” Aveline barked, marching forward. Varric made room for her. “After I lost Wessley, I had nothing! We barely knew each other, but you never once told me to get over it. You mourned with me, you protected me, and you took me into the city with your family. You have never not come when I called. Not once in over a decade. You think I wouldn’t do the same for you? You think that I wouldn’t turn this city upside down to find you? You think because I’m happily married that your absence wouldn’t hurt me? I would _never_ just let you disappear.”

“We know what you’ve lost, Hawke,” Varric said, his tone softening considerably. “But that doesn’t mean you can just play the ‘no one left to care’ card. You don’t get to tell yourself that we’d all just ‘be alright’ without you. You started this family, damn it. You don’t get to just abandon us.”

Fenris could see the tears streaming down Hawke’s cheeks even from where he was standing at the door. She covered her mouth with her hand and sank back onto her heels.

“I’m so sorry,” she squeaked softly, hands dropping into her lap. “I… I’m sorry.”

“We’d never be the same,” Varric said, stepping forward and wrapping her in his arms. “You’ve kept us together all this time. You have to let us keep you together sometimes too.”

Hawke leaned into the embrace and held him, and Aveline dropped to a knee and wrapped them both in her arms. Merrill was quick to follow suit, throwing herself on the pile, and Anders simply moved behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Isabela discreetly wiped a tear from her cheek, staying where she was.

Fenris wondered if any of them had seen Hawke cry before. Aveline probably, he reasoned. Maybe Isabela back when they were young. It was very gratifying, he decided, to see them all, even Anders, surrounding her with the support she felt so desperately lacking since the death of her mother.

She had always carried everyone else’s burdens, but she’d never let them carry hers with her. With any luck, they could change that.

Together. As a family.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, Danarius made off back to Tevinter, all of his apprentices dead, only a satchel of lyrium to show for his troubles. He holed up in a room on the ship, contemplating his poor fortune.

The little wolf could fight the monster now. That certainly changed things. He was no longer simply a _menace,_ killing his hunters and keeping himself hidden. He had adapted, evolved into something Danarius could no longer control. He wondered if it was truly in his best interest to forget about him. Then again, his wolf and the Champion had grown close, clearly. He could certainly use that to his advantage if the need arose. If he could recapture Hawke, Fenris would buckle, that much was obvious. Still, he hadn't expected his slave to make such stalwart allies. When Danarius had lost him in Seheron, he never imagined he would be able to adapt to the life of freedom.

It was the dead of night when he heard something, deep in his subconscious. It almost sounded like music, light and ethereal. It brought him out of a troubled slumber and quickly raised his defenses, as if it was someone he might need to protect himself from. He sat up out of his bed, looking around for the source of the music when his eyes finally landed on the large satchel of lyrium he’d managed to salvage from that wretched girl. There was a soft pink glow emanating from a spot through the burlap. Curious, he lifted up from his bed and made his way over, only for the music to get stronger and stronger. It was like a vibration in his mind, demanding to be heard, _felt_ , even.

He knew he should wait until he got back to Tevinter, to his laboratory where he could properly study it. He reasoned that whatever it was, _Hawke_ had been handling it for months, at least. If one of the _mundane_ could handle it without ill effects, surely a member of the great _Magisterium Imperium_ could handle it as well. Comforted by his logic, he reached into the satchel and removed the small, red shard. It was warm to the touch, and the light it was emanating almost looked like small electric currents flowing out of the stone. He could feel it caressing his skin, he could hear the music filling his senses. Calling out to him.

Danarius smiled. “Fascinating.”

 

* * *

 

 

Anara and Fenris sat on the roof of the mansion in companionable silence. She was crouched on the balls of her feet in that avian way she always was, and he had his arms draped over his knees. They stared up at the stars for a long time, running the events of the last few days over in their head.

“How long had you been collecting that lyrium?” he finally asked.

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “A few years, maybe more,” she said with a shrug, moving to sit down all the way. “Originally it was just a lingering idea. I thought that if I offered him enough lyrium to do the ritual again, he would think that infinitely easier than sending so many hunters to die on your sword.”

"So that some other poor sap could endure it instead?"

"Well," she said softly, looking down at her hands, "that was where the volunteering part came in."

Fenris flexed and unflexed his hands, shaking his head. "I had known that you were low," he said softly. "I watched you turn reckless and determined to find a fight you couldn't win. I never would have thought you had managed to get that destitute."

"It was so easy," she said, barely above a whisper, "to convince myself no one would notice. To keep telling myself that nothingness would be better than all the... Pain."

Fenris sighed in frustration and ran his fingers back through his hair.

"I should have told you that night... it feels like years ago, now. I should have explained, told you how I felt. I should have let you talk me out of running."

"It's done," she said, scooting closer. "Looking back doesn’t change it. If nothing else, you've convinced me that I would rather look forward."

He was silent for a long time before he turned to look at her. "Eyes ahead. I can support that."

She looked at him and smiled, nudging him with her shoulder. "So about this... Monster inside you..."

He shifted and cleared his throat, growing uneasy. "I did warn you. Several times, if memory serves."

"You did," she said, looking up at the stars. "You failed to mention how sexy it would be, however."

He looked at her sharply, as if she'd just started clucking like a chicken. "The hell, you say."

She shrugged. "You were so... Powerful looking. A beacon in red, all claws and fangs and menace." She flexed out her hands like they were claws and made snarling sounds as if it would drive home her point. "It was terrifying in the moment, obviously. But thinking back on it..."

"You can't be serious!"

"Oh, but I am!" she cheered, taking his arm and leaning into him. "‘ _You... Are no longer my m_ _aster!’"_ She giggled and kicked her feet, tapping her toes on the tile of his roof.

"Clearly I need to have you committed," he said, though he was smiling. "You need help. Of the mental capacity."

"I'll only get more insane as I get older," she warned, looking up at him. "Will you still love me when I'm crazy _and_ old?"

He laughed that deep, satisfying sound as he reached to push her hair behind her ear.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said gently.

Anara and Fenris sat under the stars, kissing each other long into the night. There was still much to be done, there was still a world in chaos, a city full of unrest, and their own personal demons, lurking in the darkness of their minds.

But they had family, they had friends, and they had love. More than anything, they knew that no matter what came next, no matter what pitfalls befell them, they would have each other.

So long as they were together, there was nothing they would not conquer. Not ever.

 

* * *

 

 

_“He was like_

_Frozen sky_

_In October night_

_Darkest cloud_

_Endless storm_

_Raining from his heart_

_Coldest moon_

_Deepest gloom_

_Tearing down the spring_

_October…_

_And April”_

_-The Rasmus_

  _ **Fin.**_ _  
_


	50. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN: Here it is, the final chapter of OandA FOR REAL! I wrote this little epilogue because it was one of the things that I had planned since the very outset of the story. I hope you guys enjoy it, just like I hope you all have enjoyed the rest of this journey with me. I have worked incredibly hard on this story and, through thick and thin, many of you have stuck with me, and you don't know how much that means to me. To see your feedback, to know you guys are still out there, even when I can't update, is absolutely astounding and so incredibly uplifting to me that I don't know if you can really comprehend it, so thank you. Thank you SO much.**
> 
>  
> 
> **I am going on a bit of a hiatus for a while. I have an original story I want to write (and hopefully get published!).**
> 
>  
> 
> **If you want to keep up with me and what I'm doing, follow me on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, or especially my website, found on my profile. Those are your best resources for finding out about future stories and endeavors.**
> 
>  
> 
> **And for those of you who started asking about SandF THE SECOND I was done with this story, you should really follow me on social media so you can stay updated, because I have answer the questions of "When will you be writing SandF again" probably a zillion times. Lol!**
> 
>  
> 
> **Thank you again for sticking with me this whole year, through this whole story. I have loved every crazy minute of it, and you have all given me such a wonderful means with which to express myself and I sincerely cannot thank you enough.**
> 
>  
> 
> **I hope I can keep creating things you enjoy for the rest of forever.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Sincerely, with gratitude, and always with great love,**
> 
>  
> 
> **Roarkshop.**

Bethany Hawke was very young when her powers manifested. She was six when her parents found her in her room, making forcefields around her dolls so they would levitate. She had quickly tried to hide it, knowing how her father would react, but the damage had been done.

All she knew was that her father hadn't wanted her to have magic. She wasn't yet old enough to comprehend the fear he felt. The concern. The nightmares of demons and templars, the visions of blood magic and death. She didn't comprehend that, just like she didn't comprehend the unusual mix of pride and adoration he felt for her when he found out. She had just been afraid of disappointing him.

Yet, he trained her.

"Careful, now," her father said into her ear from behind her. His voice was deep and comforting and she could feel it through his chest as he held her. "Steady. Concentrate."

Higher and higher she lifted the stone out of the lake, her tongue sticking out as she held out her hands.

"Where does your power come from, darling?"

"Inside me," she answered faithfully.

"And who can make you use it?"

"Nobody."

"And why is blood magic dangerous?"

"It attracts demons trying to come to our world."

"Will you let them?"

"No. I don't need them. I have my own power."

"Very good," he said in her ear, giving her a kiss on the shoulder.

Pleased by the praise, she turned to smile up at him, only for the rock to crash back into the water and splash them both when she lost concentration.

"Oh, no," she lamented. "Papa, I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Fenris said, laughing as he wiped the moisture from her forehead. "I'm probably not the best teacher. Your aunt Bethany will be a much better mentor."

"I like when you teach me," she said, beaming up at him, giving him a smile that made her look so much like her mother it made Fenris' heart ache in his chest. She had Anara's bright, golden eyes, and dark, raven hair. But she had his dark features and olive skin. Her ears were already growing slightly pointed on the tops and, for lack of a better word, she was absolutely perfect.

Reading Varric's novels, Fenris had a hard time comprehending something like 'Unconditional Love'. How could you love someone so much that, no matter what they did, you would continue to love them? Even as much as he loved Anara, if she were to suddenly start worshipping demons or become something other than the woman he adored, surely his love for her would change also.

It all made sense, however, the day young Bethany was born. Love unconditional came easily to him then. He remembered that day so clearly, the tiny bundle against Anara's chest, her exhausted smile as she handed the child over to him. He had sat there for hours, they said, just staring down at the tiny miracle in his arms. In those moments he knew that there was nothing, not in all of creation, that she could have done to make Fenris' love for her change. He would move the entirety of the world for her.

Anara had wiped the stunned tears from his cheeks and he had leaned over to hold both his girls in his arms, and in a moment, his entire existence had changed. He didn't care about chasing down the remaining slavers from Tevinter, he didn't care about his past or the demons or even himself. He didn't care about the the hole in the sky or how it had been sealed, he didn't care about Corypheus and his glorious defeat. He didn't care about the Inquisition or their rise to power, he didn't even care about how Hawke had almost gotten herself killed in the Fade because of it. In that moment, none of it mattered. That woman and that child became his entire existence.

He had been terrified for little Beth when they had found out that she was magic-touched. He had almost reacted in anger, and if it hadn't been for Anara's steadying presence he might have. It was his gut reaction, walking into her room and finding her levitating her various toys. She was a mage, despite everything. He couldn't comprehend how it had happened.

"It's alright to be scared," Anara had said later that night while they laid together in bed, drawing patterns in his chest with her fingers. "I'm scared, too."

"It serves me right, I suppose," he said, squeezing her to his chest. "We should write to your sister. She'll know what to do."

The Circles of Magi still hadn't reformed, though there were still talks about it as the Chantry grew in strength again. With the Inquisition still in power, and the threat Corypheus had caused gone, Thedas seemed to have started settling into a nice, peaceful age. He had put up a bit of a fight, those years ago, when Anara had decided to stand with the mages even after Anders' betrayal, but in light of recent events, he was grateful for it. He did not want his daughter in one of the Circles. He wanted her there, always in reach, where he could protect her from demons and Templars alike.

She changed him every day, just like her mother.

He sat with her by the lake day after day, helping her learn to concentrate, to keep her will power strong, to fight off temptation. He taught her that spirits in any form, no matter how good intentioned, would corrupt eventually if brought to this world, and that the risk of blood magic was too high to trifle with. He taught her that power for the sake of power was a hole that could never be filled. The search for power, the greed it caused, was the surest way to let it start controlling you. He taught her that she had her own strength, her own power, and that so long as she believed in herself, she would always have enough to get through whatever was thrown at her.

On the night before they expected Bethany to arrive, Fenris tucked his daughter into bed, telling her how proud of her he was and how everything was going to be alright.

"Will you tell me a story?" she asked, clinging the little stuffed nug toy to her chest. "The one of how you and mama fought a dragon!"

Fenris laughed and sat on the edge of her bed. "You have heard that story a thousand times. Surely you'd rather your uncle Varric tell it to you when he arrives tomorrow. He has always been a better storyteller than I."

"But Papa," she said, batting her golden eyes at him, "I like it best when you tell it!"

He sighed, powerless to her just as he was powerless to his wife. "Very well," he said, settling against the headboard beside her. "We were trying to help a group of miners, for whatever reason…"

* * *

Anara watched her daughter sprint down the hill to meet the rest of her family, crying 'unca, unca!' and throwing herself into Varric's arms. The dwarf picked her up and spun her around, his laughter travelling all the way up to them.

"She's getting so big," Anara said, putting her head on Fenris' shoulder.

"It's only a matter of time before he's unable to lift her any longer," he said, wrapping an arm around her and waving down at Varric, Bethany, and Aveline as they all greeted little Beth. Varric carried her up the hill on his shoulders, and she was already chattering away with everyone.

"I hear you have magic," Bethany said, combing through the girl's hair with her fingers.

"Uh-huh. Papa says that if I practice I can be a great mage like  _you_ someday."

Bethany looked at Fenris with an eyebrow arched. "He said that, did he?"

"Children," Fenris said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "Always telling stories."

"Come on, Munchkin," Varric said, bouncing the little girl and practically galloping with her into the house. "I want to see what you can do."

Fenris groaned. "I shall go reign in the chaos," he said, reaching to squeeze Aveline's shoulder in greeting before following after Varric and little Beth.

Anara laughed and watched them go, her sister and Aveline at her sides.

"I bring news," Aveline said.

"Good," Anara said, still smiling as she watched Fenris take little Beth off of Varric's shoulders and hold her. "I want to hear everything."

* * *

Varric sat with little Beth as he tucked her into bed, telling her stories and epic tales that always managed to get her more riled up than calmed down. His little niece was absolutely one of his favorite things in the world. A perfect amalgamation of her two parents, with just enough of Varric in her life to make sure she didn't end up with  _Fenris'_ sense of humor.

Eventually he joined the rest of the family out at the kitchen table, thanking Fenris when he brought him a tankard of ale. It was just like old times, in a lot of ways. Sure, Daisy was busy sailing around Thedas with the Rivaini, and Blondie was still in hiding for the most part, but that didn't make it any less of a treat to be home.

Varric filled everyone in on the Inquisition, since he was the only one who really had the inside scoop. Bethany asked about Divine Cassandra, and he assured her that even though she was strict, she had a good head on her shoulders and kept the best interest of both mages and templars at heart. He didn't know what that meant for the Circles just yet, but he was hopeful.

"She seemed like a good sort," Anara said as she sat back down, "from what little I saw of her at Skyhold, anyway."

"I still can't believe you went all the way across the Waking Sea while you were already over a month pregnant."

"Well, I was already throwing up every day… seemed like a waste not to."

"Ugh, do not remind me of that  _fool's errand_ ," Fenris groaned, turning to glare at Varric.

"Don't look at me," Varric said with a laugh, putting his hands up. "I tried to keep her hidden for as long as I could. She showed up on her own."

"I went willingly," Anara said with a nod. "I still don't see what you expected me to do."

"I  _expected_ you to stay at home and look after yourself, idiot that I am," Fenris growled. "Maker, that was a nightmare."

"You're exaggerating."

" _Exaggerating?"_

"Here we go…"

"I got a letter telling me to come home because you were  _with child,_ and what do I come home to? An empty house and a letter from  _Varric_ of all people."

"Hey," Varric interrupted, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"I couldn't just sit at home and do nothing," Anara continued, ignoring him. "Corypheus was our responsibility."

"I'm not having this argument again," Fenris said, getting up to refill the empty tankards. "You had no business making me fall through a hole in the sky to come and find you and that's final."

Varric let out a loud bark of laughter. "I still remember the look on everyone's faces when you showed up on the other side of that giant spider monster, brooding and snarling and frothing at the mouth."

"He was certainly not happy," Anara said with a laugh.

"That is an incredible understatement," Fenris mumbled.

"Hey, his added strength got us all out of there alive," Varric said with a nod. "I'm certainly not going to complain about it."

Anara put her chin on her hand and smiled up at Fenris as he put the mugs back on the table. "I'm certainly glad you showed up when you did."

"That's twice now you've made me go into the fade, and twice you've executed a potentially lethal plan without consulting me. It had better be the last on both counts." He kissed her eyebrow as he sat down. "Do  _not_ do it again."

"Yes, dear."

Varric smiled at them and leaned back in his chair, watching the conversation starting to flow once more. He was glad that, in the end, he had left this all out of his  _Tale of the Champion._

He was never very good at happy endings anyway.


End file.
